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Miss Qood-for-nothino 

(Mamsellc UnnCtz) 

W.Heimburg. 



E. A. WEEKS & COMP AMY, 

CHICAGO. 


The Marguerite Series. 

$6.cx> Per Year. 


No. 11 . Sept. I 1893. Issued Semi-Monthly. Subscription Price, 
lintered at Chicago Post-office as Second-Class Matter. 




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MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING, 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 



HETTIE E. MILLER 


t^SJO 


CHICAGO 

B. A. WEEKS & COMPANY 
276 & 278 Franklin St. 


■p'Z.'?) . 

M.- 9. 


Copyrighted 1893 

BY 

E. A, Weeks & Company 


Miss Good-For-Nothing 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Letter 5 

11 . Not One, but two Children Coming. . . 23 , 

III. Rika’s Charges 28 

IV. The Two Families 37 

V. No More Darkness in the World 47 

VI. Dreams 68 

VII. An Idyl: Then Dissolution 79 

VIII. The Night of the Ball 94 

IX. God Commands 103 

X. The Maternal Eye 109 

XL Love and Coquetry 177 

XII. Father and Daughter 130 

XIII. A Suitor FOR Miss Good-for-norning. . 140 

XIV. Sunshine that Makes Dark Shadows.. 160 

XV. Miss Good-eor-nothihg Engages to 

Leave her Old Home 167 

XVI. Nature and Love Smiles 172 

XVII. Destiny Makes Strange Sport 179 

XVIII. A Conjugal Tete-a-tete 185 

XIX. Bad News 192 

XX. How THE Returned Soldier is Received 200 

XXL Ghosts of the Past 206 

XXH. How Frieder Wins Applause from a 

Fashionable Audience 216 

XXIII. A Seed of Bitterness 225 

XXIV. Which was the Greater Grief? 247 

XXV. Together, But Far Apart 256 

XXVI. Tempest Tossed on Rough Seas 258 

XXVIL At Last 261 




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MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. 

CHAPTER 1. 

THE LETTER. 

The holiday was over. One of the quiet, dark days 
between Christmas and New Year was drawing to a 
close; fine snow-flakes were falling, it was. bitterly 
cold and a brisk east wind kept people indoors. Only 
the old postman with his high rubber boots walked 
along the narrow foot-path; occasionally he entered a 
house, bringing messages from abroad, containing 
good and bad news, happy tidings and the reverse, 
without changing countenance in the least, secure in 
the sense of his irresponsibility. 

"So I have to go out there too, to-night,’’ he mut- 
tered, pausing under a lamp and examining a registered 
letter which bore the address: 

"Fraulein Friederike Trautmann, 

Andersheim a. Rhein. 

Germania. ’’ 

The old man shook his head and with a sigh of vex- 
ation turned into a street which was darker and qui- 
eter than the rest. He quickened his pace and in ten 
minutes; with the aid of his small lantern, found the 
place he was in search of. He rang the bell at a door 
in the garden-wall, whereupon a dog began to bark, 
and immediately thereafter a house-bell rang, and a 
dim light disclosed the outlines of a handsome dwelling. 

"Flo there!’’ cried the man without, "it is the post- 
man! Can I see the mistress?’’ 

5 


6 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


The door in the wall was opened, and a brown- 
haired boy of about twelve years stared with curious 
surprise now at the letter, now at the bearer. 

"For Aunt?" he asked breathlessly. 

"For Fraulein Trautmann! " 

"Mother," he called out, running along the narrow, 
paved walk to the house, "a letter for Aunt!" 

The door with the tiny peep-window on the right 
hand in the large, dark entrance-hall opened, and a 
woman, lamp in hand, appeared on the threshold. 
Upon her hair, scarcely tinged with gray, she wore a 
black lace cap, while on her longish, colorless face was 
an expression of astonishment. 

"For my sister? A letter?" 

From the kitchen likewise thither hastened the 
maid, a healthy, honest creature, who seemed too, 
speechless with surprise. 

"Give it to me," said the lady, descending the 
steps, "where is the letter?" 

"I am sorry, madam, but it must be delivered into 
the hands of the person for whom it is intended. Is 
the Fraulein not at home?" 

"Into the hands — of the person — for whom it is in- 
tended?" stammered Frau Roettger. 

"Yes, I can do nothing else." 

"The fraulein is up-stairs— Luischen, take the lamp 
and show the man the way!" 

The boy had to be of the party. He preceded them, 
taking three steps at a time, and rushed along the 
hall at a pace as if he were trying to escape from a 
fire. "Aunt,” his voice rang out in the corridor, 
"Aunt Riekchen, a letter!" 

He burst open the door of her room and cried once 


more : 


THE LETTER 


7 


“A letter, Aunt Ri^kchen! You are to have a 
letter! ” 

“I? A letter?” was the reply. 

This voice likewise expressed the greatest surprise, 
but the'voice was so gentle, so melodious, that the 
old postman involuntarily moderated his gruff tone 
and said politely: ‘‘Good evening, Fraulein, here is 
something to sign.” 

Thereupon a form, up to this time seated at the 
window, rose and quietly crossed the room; a match 
was struck, a wax-taper lighted in a bright brass can- 
dlestick, and a fair hand extended for the letter. 

'Tf you please, put your name here.” 

The characters were irregular, for the hand that 
wrote them trembled. ‘Ts there anything to be paid?” 
asked the receiver of the letter. 

"No, Fraulein!” 

"No? Ah, wait! ” And the trembling fingers slipped 
a piece of money in the postman’s right hand. 

"Good evening — thank you very much! ” 

In the vestibule his heavy footsteps died away; 
within stood Fraulein Friederike Trautmann, the letter 
in her hand, not daring to open it. The cheeks of 
the boy before her were crimson with impatience and 
excitement. 

"Aunt, why do you not read it?” he burst forth. 

She started. "Go down stairs, Fritz!” she said, 
stroking his curly head. 

"But from whom is it, aunt?” 

"1 do not know.” 

"It is from Italy, look at the post-mark!” 

"Yes — but I do not know who sent it -go, my boy! 
— Go!” she repeated, as he hesitated. 

The handsome boy in the gray jacket left the room 


8 MISS good-for-nothinG 

unwillingly. She followed him to the door, bolted it 
after him and then seated herself at the table upon 
which was the taper. 

She was no longer young, she was over forty, but 
her face still bore traces of former beauty. Sorrow 
had bleached her fair hair and rendered her once 
bright eyes dim; it had produced deep furrows about 
the tiny mouth, and dark circles beneath the eyes, 
still at this moment a glimmer of youthfulness flitted 
over the agitated countenance. “From Italy!'’ she 
murmured. “News from him? From whom could it 
be, but from him?" 

She broke the seal and read. She could not see 
well and was forced to lean over the paper, suddenly 
her head bowed lower and a moan rang through the 
room. She sprang up so hastily that the taper fell upon 
the floor; it went out and the room was in darkness. 
Only after some time did sobs come from the armchair 
at the window which was dimly lighted up by the snow 
without, feverish, bitter sobs, which did not cease 
until a heavy hand knocked at the door and Frau 
Roettger’s voice cried : “Are you not coming to the 
table, Friederike? The potatoes will be cold!" 

“Please excuse me," answered Riekchen Trautmann. 

“Why, what’s the matter? Come, out with it! We 
are beside ourselves with anxiety!” was the irritable 
reply from without. 

“Later on — I will come down, Minna.” 

“You are a block-head! For my part — " 

Frau Roettger’s steps died away. Friederike Traut- 
mann had ceased weeping; she sat, her head resting 
on her hand, gazing out of the window. The garden 
lay there in the ghostly twilight, the two leafless nut- 
trees at the hedge stood out darkly against the gray 


THE LETTER 


9 


background ; Fraulein Trautmann could plainly see the 
ice-floats in the Rhine. How terribly desolate all 
was! Had there ever really been a spring during 
which the world was filled with the fragrance of the 
budding foliage and flowers, in which the moonlight 
danced upon the stream and the nightingales warbled? 
Had there ever been an evening on which she stood 
under the nut tree in a white gown and with throbbing 
heart watched the skiff which bore him to her? It 
had been a brief dream; frost had fallen that night, 
a frost so merciless and destructive, that no bud ever 
opened again. 

They would not hear of her following the strange 
artist, who had come — God knew whence — to set up 
his easel wherever he found a picturesque spot. Her 
father had hinted at “breadless professions, ” her mother 
at the frivolity of such handsome young men to whom 
their velvet jackets were very becoming, but who, as 
sure as she breathed, were altogether worthless and 
only existed to render girls, and later on their poor 
wdves miserable. But her sister, who was not as 
pretty as she was, could not forgive the young man 
for having e3^es only for “Riekchen, ” for having on the 
evening when they row'ed home from the green taken 
his Riekchen from the skiff in which she, Minna 
Trautmann, sat, into a small boat, and that she, not- 
withstanding the distance at which this boat kept from 
the other, could distinctly see with her keen falcon- 
like eyes, in what a close embrace they sat. 

It had been she who betrayed them to her mother, 
and the morning which dawned upon the Trautmann 
home brought with it tears for Riekchenls eyes. At 
night she went out once more to bid him farewell. 
Her sister saw her and called out from her bed: “Stay 
here, it is not proper — do you know?” 


lO MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 

Riekchen went, however, with a defiant: “Tell it if 
you like! No one can prevent our last farewell, at 
any rate ! ” 

But Minna betrayed nothing. The sob which es- 
caped her sister as she ceased speaking, must have 
touched her, and Riekchen was permitted to spend be- 
neath the old nut-tree undisturbed, the most painful, 
the bitterest hour of her life. 

At this moment she could see his pale face clearly. 

“You were right, girl, to submit! What do you 
want with a poor devil! ’’ These were the words with 
which he received her. But when she clung to him, 
sobbing passionatel}^, and repeating :‘T will be true 
to you, I shall never forget you, I cannot give you 
up!" he too turned pale and their tears mingled. 

“Will you write to me?" she asked at length. 

“If you wish, dear Riekchen!’ 

“It will be my one pleasure!" 

After a pause, she said: “Heinrich, will you remain 
faithful to me?" 

“I — I — surely — but you?" 

“Oh, always, always!" she sobbed. 

“Do you now, Riekchen — I do not believe it, you 
are too pretty and attractive for that." 

“Heinrich, so help me God, I will look at no other 
man, I will wait for you even should I grow old and 
gray! If you are ever in trouble, you will tell me, 
will you not, and were you to require the stars from 
heaven, I would obtain them for 5^ou; if I knew it 
would be for your good, I would go with you to-night, 
without hesitation — but — ” 

“But?" 

“They say it would be your misfortune as well as 
mine!" 


THE LETTER 


II 


"Mine? That is a matter of indifference!” 

-‘But you must be happy! I do not wish to stick 
to you like a burdock — your art needs freedom . 
go . . . but think of me, do not forget me!” 

"Cease weeping,” be comforted, after a pause, 
"Italy is not out of the world — ” 

"Ah, Heinrich, much too far for love! And the 
maidens there — are very beautiful, I have read.” 

Then both laughed amid their tears and again kissed 
one another. “Never mind the maidens — not one is as 
beautiful as you!” 

Once more their lips whispered: "Farewell! I will 
be true to you!” "Come back — I will await you — 
God watch over you! ” 

After the lapse of many yeras, she fancied she could 
hear the splashing of the oars, his last cry from over 
the water: "Farewell, my lovely darling!” 

Ah, and then! Dark, desolate were the days that 
followed. To day she could not tell whether she had 
waked or dreamed during all this time. But one single 
thing was prominent amid the monotony: his letters; 
the}^ brightened her life like the twinkling stars in 
the dark sky. Then came a suitor — she rejected him ; 
another — she refused him; her father became angry at 
the constantly repeated words: "I shall not marr}^” 

"She cannot forget the artist,” explained her sister. 
And once when Riekchen was out, her mother went 
through her portfolio, found Heinrich’s address, and 
her father wrote an extremely emphatic letter, to the 
effect that he forbade the silly correspondence, for the 
girl was commencing to be reasonable and to consider 
a suitable match. 

Riekchen suspected nothing; but her lover’s silence 
caused her unutterable suffering. Finally, one Christ- 


12 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


mas Eve, she was taken ill. Down stairs they were 
celebrating her sisters’ betrothal with the referendary, 
Roettger; she raved about him in the quiet sick 
room, and this question rang constantly in the nurse’s 
ear: “Have you forgotten me, dear? The maids there 
are so much more beautiful, ah, so much more beau- 
tiful!” 

When she recovered, Minna^s marriage took place. 

In the church Riekchen fainted, she was not yet 
strong. Everyone thought, however, she looked re- 
markably lovely with her curly head and the white 
blossoms in her hair. Captain Erbenstein thought so 
too, but she maintained that it took very little to in- 
terest him — and the captain had to make the best 
of it. 

The years glided by. First her father died, then 
her mother, and the dying woman took her hand, as 
she said: “You did not want to be happy, child — 
how it grieves me!” 

The girl replied almost ga3dy: “Dear, little mother, 

I wanted to, indeed, but I — ’’ 

“Could not,” she was about to say, still she did not 
wish her mother to carry a reproach to the grave with 
her, and so she contented herself with adding : “But ' 
I did not understand how, I have no talent for it.” 

Then she was left alone in the large house be- 
queathed to her. Her sister came occasionally, she 
brought a child with her, a fine, brown-haired bo3q 
who knew how to creep into the lonel 3 / woman’s heart 
with his clear, childish laughter. He preferred being 
with his aunt to being at home, and when death dis- 
solved the unhappy marriage, little Friedrich as well 
as his mother, came altogether to his aunt’s house. 
Frau Roettger accepted gladly her sister’s offer: that 


THE LETTER 


13 


she occupy the ground floor, for she pretended to be 
in straitened circumstances; the deceased having 
squandered her tidy little income, as she scornfully 
said. 

Though in reality she had it all, and even more, 
for she had been exceedingly close and economical. 

Well, Riekchen helped her. She had no one else 
to care for, the boy was all that was dear to her in the 
world; for what else should the old maid use her 
money! Aunt Riekchen was raised to the doubtful 
dignity of an aunt with an inheritance, and Frau 
Minna agreed with her as well as her quarrelsome, 
dogmatical disposition would permit. They could 
never understand each other, nor was that necessary. 
Below, Frau Minna might continue to give her coffee- 
parties and to crochet and knit her interminable 
counterpanes, up-stairs there lived something better; 
there, old memories spoke in the solitary, twilight 
hour, there, still stood a sketch upon the easel, thither 
came books and magazines, there came from the piano 
Beethoven’s and Schumann’s grand melodies and — 
there sat the boy listening to stories of olden times, 
studying his Latin, or playing upon his violin. 

So by degrees she grew calm. But once when her 
sister, with her lack of tact, touched the old wound, 
the pain returned more bitter and deep than ever. 
She had always longed to know what had become of 
him — if he were cjead, if he had returned to Germany, 
if he were living happily and comfortably, or if he 
had remained there, had taken a wife and forgotten 
the old love. 

Never had any tidings reached her, never — until 
to-day. Then they came — but what tidings! 

She rose abruptly, like one who had formed a hasty 


14 


MISS GOOD-FOR NOTHING 


resolution, lifted the candle, fetched a dark, old-fash- 
ioned cloak and hood from the adjoining apartment, 
and, the letter in her hand, left the room. On de- 
scending the stairs she repaired to the kitchen, bade 
the maid light a lantern and prepare to accompany 
her, then she knocked at her sister’s door. 

“Come in!” Frau Minna sat at the round table by 
the lamp, crocheting; her son was reading. 

“Fleavens, how you look!” cried the former, looking 
in affright at her sister’s pale face. “What ails you.^* 
Tell me 1” 

“I have news from — ” the name would not pass her 
pallid lips — “from Italy — ” 

“God bless me! He is surely not corning back? 
Or are you to go to him! My gracious, that affair is 
lasting!" 

Aunt Riekchen stood erect and made no reply. 

“Well, does he still want you? Has he at length 
got so far that he can support a wife.” 

“He is dead,” answered Fraulein Riekchen. 

For an instant Frau Minna was startled by the 
suppressed anguish in her sister’s tone. She wanted 
to speak, but nothing occurred to her, she only looked 
with a puzzled air after the form, which passed 
through the door. 

Immediately afterward the bell below rang and 
Aunt Riekchen left the house. 

“Where is aunt going?” asked the boy. 

“How do I know? She probably wishes to order a 
wreath — but she cannot send one so far — God only 
knows what she intends to do. I am glad that there 
will now be an end of it.” 

“Was it Aunt Reikchen’s lover?” 

“Yes, it was. But study; she will come back. When 


THE LETTER 


15 


anything goes wrong with her, she goes out, if it is 
raining pitchforks. When the storm- within her has 
spent its fury, she remembers where she lives.” 

Fritz obediently bent his head over his book, but 
he could not study. He loved his aunt dearly; in her 
society he found compensation for the prose with 
which his mother surrounded herself, and that she was 
forced to suffer, made him sad and restless. 

“If I only knew, where she had gone,” he ventured 
to say after a pause. 

“Study!” — 

Meanwhile Fraulein Riekchen Trautmann in the 
snow storm passed through several dark streets and 
approached a high, gabled house, on the lower floor 
of which a light glimmered through the shutters. 

“Is your master at home?” 

“Certainly! ” replied the old man, who wore a sort 
of livery. “He is just smoking his pipe, and mistress 
is arranging the chess-board.” 

“Ask him if I can intrude for a moment!” 

“At any time! Why should I ask? I can always 
admit you, Fraulein Riekchen.’ And without advanc- 
ing to the door of the room, he called out in a voice 
of thunder: “Mistress, Trautmann’s Riekchen is here!” 
Then he opened a door, and the laughing, still pretty 
face of a woman appeared in the frame. 

“Come in, dear Riekchen, my old man already looks 
like pure sunshine!” And drawing her visitor over 
the threshold, she cried: “Lo! Now take off your 
cloak and hood. That was a sensible idea! You will 
take a glass of wine? Old man, I will fetch some of 
the Eherhacher — and now amuse yourselves in the 
meantime, for I can see by your noses that you have 
secrets! — Well, I am not jealous, although I have cause 
to be!” she called back. 


i6 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“Chatterbox!” said with a smile a tall, elderly man, 
who, one could see at a glance,^ was a doctor. He 
took his guest’s hand and forced Riekchen to be seated 
beside him on the old-fashioned sofa. “Now, how 
can I be of service to you? Is Frau Minna angry 
again? Or has your heart rebelled? You look pale, 
Fraulein Riekchen — you must not sit so much, you 
must walk more — ” 

“I have not come about my health, dear Doctor, I 
want other advice, a favor of your brother — is he still 
at Florence?” 

“Yes — at least he was still there four weeks ago.” 

“I have a great favor to ask of him.” 

“Which he will surely be glad to grant you.” 

“Of course, it is understood, he shall have no ex- 
pense, 1 will attend to that; I only wish to ask him 
to go to Rome, there to seek out a certain woman, to 
obtain a child from her and to bring the same over 
the Alps to Basle where I will receive him.” 

“Lord! That sounds quite mysterious!” 

“It is no secret,” said she, smiling faintl}^ “This 
boy is the son of a friend of my youth, who died re- 
cently. In a letter, which he wrote two days before 
his death and which, according to his wishes, one of 
his colleagues sent to me, he asks me to interest my- 
self in his boy and to bring him to Germany." 

“What is the child’s name?” 

She clutched at her throat as if to strangle some- 
thing. “Friedrich Adami,” came forth hesitatingly. 

“Ah — pardon, Reikchen, I know the name — F my- 
self once — “Suffered by it,” he was on the point of say- 
ing, but paused and looked into the pure, noble face 
of the girl whom he had once ardently loved and by 
whom he had been rejected for this stranger’s sake. 


THE LETTER 


17 


"So you are going to take the child?” 

“Yes, dear Doctor!” 

“How old is he?” 

“Thirteen, about the age of Fritz Roettger. ” 

“Do you know what you are taking upon yourself?” 

“Perfectly wqU!” 

“Then I will write to Oscar. As I know, he will 
be delighted to make a journey to Rome. Your offer 
of money he will not be able to refuse — Heaven 
knows, that to-day, notwithstanding his age, which is 
six and thirty, money is very scarce with him." 

“And at Basle or Zurich, or wherever he likes, I 
will take the boy from him.” 

“I think, Riekchen, if he comes so far, he would 
like to see the old home once again, and for that I 
will send him the necessary means.” 

“That would be still better! You know, dear Doc- 
tor, in all my life I have not been outside of our nest. 
But here is the address. Signora Adami, Piazza de 
Cappuccini 16. ” 

“Thank you!” ' said the old gentleman, writing 
down the name. 

The doctor’s wife entered with the wine glasses and 
bottle, as Riekchen was preparing to leave. Not a 
bit of it!” cried she, “you must first drink some wine! 
Am I to have my trip to the cellar for nothing?” And 
she forced a glass upon the girl. 

“Now then, Fraulein Riekchen, let us drink to the 
success of your plan!" said Doctor Kortum. 

“Heavens, what is the matter?” cried the pretty, 
little woman with the sparkling, black eyes. 

“She intends to adopt a child.” 

The doctor’s wife clasped her hands above her head. 
“Nonsense!” cried she. “Come, be sensible — it is not 
truel” 


i8 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“It is, wife! Do not look so astonished!'’ 

“But the responsibility! I would rather take a pug- 
dog or a couple of canaries—” 

“Be still, wife, she is doing a good deed! But — 
what will Frau Minna say?” 

“I am going now to tell her,” replied Riekchen, 
somewhat despondently. 

What will Minna say?” exclaimed the doctor’s wife. 
She will look like our dog, Peter, when I take his 
bowl of milk from him' — O ho! I would not be bold 
enough to tell her that!” 

“It is difficult,” said the pale girl softly, and her 
eyes looked vacant. ^‘Good-bye ; she is awaiting me!” 

In fifteen minutes she again reached home and en- 
tered the sitting-room. Frau Minna was just eating 
a baked apple, Fritz was carelessly turning the pages 
of his stamp album. 

‘■'Ah, how glad I am that you have come. Aunt,” 
he cried, “now we can finish the chapter of the 
‘Leather Stocking Tales!’” 

She suddenly laid her hand upon his head. “Fritz, 
look at me — you are to have a companion; I am to 
have a visit, a long visit from a boy of your age — are 
you pleased?” 

“Excellent! ” exclaimed the boy. “You are famous. 
Aunt!” 

“What nonsense is this?” asked Frau Minna. 

“Adami’s son is coming to me,” explained Riekchen, 
with apparent composure, though her bosom heaved. 

“On a visit?” 

“No — provisionally — forever, Minna. ” 

The lady on the sofa changed color. “That means 
— that means — that you — ” 

“That I shall take care of him!" 


THE LETTER 


19 


' f , 

“That you are mad!” cried Frau Minna. And when 
her sister with a quiet ’Good-night” evaded all further 
discussion, she bqrst into a nervous laugh. “So! ” 
she cried, striking the palm of her hand upon the 
table, “so! Now it is complete, now wipe your mouth, 
you poor beggar !” 

“Mother — ” the boy tried to soothe her, but she 
pushed him aside, fled to her bedroom, and there she 
moaned as if the direst misfortune had come to her, 
while the boy formed the brightest plans for the future 
by the side of his companion. 

Aunt Riekchen sat up-stairs and once more read the 
long letter the tremulous characters of which be- 
trayed the hand of a sufferer. 

“The thought that you will fulfil my request, makes 
death easy to me. I have no right to ask, I know, 
but I know, too, that you have not forgotten me. Too 
late I learned that your father wrote me an untruth 
when he informed me that you were happy by the side 
of another. 

“We have both been greatly sinned against, poor 
child! Yet we are not the only ones in the world to 
whom it has happened, not the only ones who have 
learned what denial means. I have a son, Friederike, 
I love him inexpressibly; as long as I live, he is safe, 
but — ^/len? His mother— I must make no complaints 
— Take the child, give him some love, some sunshine ! 
God bless you for it! He will honor you as your own 
child — give him kindness and patience, give him love! 

“When, long years ago, I received the letter from 
your father mentioned above, I felt as an old German 
folk song runs: ‘Mir war’s, als sei verschwunden die 
Soun’ am hellen Tag — ‘T cannot to-day express my 
feelings at the time. My creative power, my will 
seemed paralyzed, altogether paralyzed. 


20 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“My landlady’s daughter saved me from the worst, 
in order — to cause me to experience still worse. I 
earned nothings I scarcely ever came home from the 
wine-vaults, I broke with the families, who advised 
me to mend my ways; I had reached the brink of the 
abyss. The landlady, afterward my mother-in-law, in- 
formed me one day that I could not stay in the house 
any longer, unless I paid the rent in arrears — I laughed 
and showed her my empty pockets. She thereupon, 
in the shrieking. manner of her tribe, began to call out 
murder, to threaten me with the police — and her 
daughter stood pale and speechless at the door. When 
the old woman at length left the room, she took the 
girl with her, and outside began a dispute between 
the two women, while I collected a few articles which 
the pawn-broker’s shop had not yet swallowed up. 

“The girl’s full, deep voice finally gained the vic- 
tory; the little house was quiet— 

“Ah, Friederike, it is difficult for me to write you 
this, but I think you have a right to know how I won 
my wife. On the evening of this day, I just had my 
last trinket in my hand and was about to give it to 
worthy Donna Marchi in part payment, and after that 
to leave the house never to return, when a low rap 
came at the door and Julia rushed into the room. 

“Signor Federigo,” she whispered, “you need not 
move — keep your studio, mother will let you, you will 
not hear another cross word.’’ 

“How is that?” I asked indifferently; I cared not 
indeed whether I went or remained. 

“I have — ” she hesitated and looked at me in the 
twilight with her dark eyes which were filled with 
tears. She was a small, dainty creature, without a 
trace of color in her sallow face. I had scarcely no- 


THE LETTER 


21 


ticed her when she sat at her loom and wove silken 
threads into ribbons, as she had learned to do at a 
cousin’s at Sorrento. 

“What have you done, Julia? . 

“I have paid mother,” she said, “I saved in secret 
of what I earned, but she must not know it. Signor, 
she would beat me to death.” 

“I will not accept that, Julia,” said I, curtl3^ “You 
are a good child, but — that is impossible! Go, call 
your mother!” 

“Then the girl fell at my feet and began to weep, 
bitterly, and passionately, at intervals uttering inco- 
herent words — I should not go, I should not leave 
her, without me she could not live, for — she loved 
me. She must acknowledge it, it was a fact, and she 
would suffocate if she could not tell it. If I went 
away, she would follow me, and she would not utter 
a sound were I to scold her and trample upon her. 
Then I raised her, drew her to my heart and thought, 
that you had deserted me, and that this poor child of 
the people was far above the lady who broke the cele- 
brated German faith. After a few days she became 
my wife and sat as usual at her loom, while my moth- 
er-in-law washed for aristocratic families, and I was 
compelled to work likewise, for times were hard and 
on Sundays and holidays my wife wished to be seen 
at the theatre or in a caf^. 

“Wretchedness, mental wretchedness was not lack- 
ing. At first, after the birth of my bo3^ there was — 
but then — I, the child upon my arm, bravely fought 
against the influence of ignorance and coarseness; from 
the time that his intellect began to awaken, I took 
the boy into my studio, under my eyes, I worked until 
illness snatched brush and palette from my hand and 


22 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


increasing weakness could not prevent my darling from 
fleeing from the dismal sick-chamber to seek associates 
in the street who were not suitable for him. My wife 
worked doubly hard; the cradle with another child 
stood beside her. During the past year she has been 
in my room a great deal, much to my annoyance — • 
God forgive me — for her every word was a reproach, 
an accusation against the miserable man to whom she 
had given her heart. 

"Then I learned that you had been true to me! 
That was the hardest trial, and yet so beautiful. Thank 
you, Friederike! Once more I ask you, instill in the 
child your noble disposition, your refined thoughts, 
your fidelity! Farewell, and forgive me! I never 
have forgotten you!" 

Friederike Trautmann sat for some time, the letter 
in her hand. The candle had burned low and gone 
out — she did not notice it. A strange, tormenting 
bitterness seized upon her heart. 

"Oh, you!" she whispered, extending her hand to- 
ward her parents’ picture’s, "had you the right to make 
us both so miserable?" The more she pondered upon 
it the greater grew her longing for the child of the 
beloved man. All, all, that he a'sked of her for his 
son would she give him, and more, much more! As 
a dying man drinks, so did she drink in in anticipa- 
tion the moment in which she would outstretch her 
arms to draw this child to her heart. Would to God, 
he was now beside her! 


CHAPTER 11. 


NOT ONE, BUT TWO CHILDREN COMING. 

The day drew near; time passed slowly, but it 
passed. 

The preparation had afforded the young foster-mother 
many a secret pleasure, though the taunts of her sis. 
ter, the anxious air of her nephew who by degrees had 
been persuaded by his mother, that he would be bit- 
terly wronged by the appearance of the “strange 
bumpkin,’’ occasioned her many a heartache. Still 
she pursued her course. Two days before the expected 
arrival all was in order, at least in the upper story 
of the old house, which bore its pointed gabled roof- 
like a head-covering which was in proportion but 
.much too high and whose innumerable lutherns re* 
sembled drowsy eyes. The old rusty weather-vane 
creaked in the west wind, which blew across the 
Rhine, and in the streets of the small town were to 
be seen the young people in all kinds of cheap attire 
for it was Rose Monday, and at least the little people 
wanted to have their festal procession, as did the 
grown-ups in sacred Cologne and golden Mayence. 

Fritz Roettger rushed up the stairs to Aunt Riek- 
chen’s room, although his mother had warned him that 
the said aunt would have eyes for him no longer. 

His mother was right. . Aunt Riekchen sat silent 
and pale upon the sofa, and before her stood Uncle 
Doctor with a letter in his hand, he too, seeming to 

23 


24 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


share her loss of self-possession, for he thoughtfully 
scratched his head. Fritz, through his black horse- 
hair wig, by means of which he had converted himself 
into a “Ratzdimaus-efallenjungen, ” heard him say 
plainly: ‘'Yes, that is just so, my dear Fraulein Riek- 
chen; remember, there was no alternative. Flere you 
have the letter. At present nothing can be changed, 
and later — it may be done. Forced— why are you 
standing there and staring, silly boy," he called to 
Fritz, who was listening open-mouthed. "Run down 
stairs, I already hear the music." And when the 
abashed child had vanished, the doctor continued: 
"Forced to take the second too, as foster-child, you 
can not be. Surel}^ Adami must have some relatives 
in Germany whose duty it is to proyide for the chil- 
dren?" 

"He has none, dear doctor!" 

"Well, it will all be arranged. But my brother was 
in a very awkward position; just fancy — what does he 
write? And he began to read : 

"I cannot describe to you how things looked in the 
small house near by the church of the Capuchins. 
The dusty, desolate studio, in the center of which 
stood the bier of the young woman who, they told me, 
had caught the terrible disease while caring for her 
consumptive husband, and who succumbed to it in an 
incredibly short time; added to this, an old, half 
idiotic person, the dead woman’s mother, who raised 
a veritable howl at the trouble she would have with 
a child, too, a horrible, ill-natured child. She would 
keep the elder, if I would only take that one along, 
and she pointed to a corner in which a tiny girl 
cowered, a miserable, emaciated creature, with large 
expressionless eyes, whom scoldings and blows did 


NOT ONE, BUT TWO CHILDREN COMING 


25 


not seem to hurt, probably, because she had been ac- 
customed to them from the very first. 

“I put an end to the repugnant scene by declaring 
that I wished to take both children. It was arbitrary 
and reckless, I confess, but my heart revolted at the 
sight of the pitiful, little creature, and I do not think 
that high-mindedness and magnanimity are so com- 
pletely dead in the world as to allow such a poor 
thing to die. Were I some one else, dear brother, I 
would keep her myself — but as it is — ” 

“I will keep her,” interrupted Riekchen’s voice, "it 
must be so. The pleasure in this step is still to 
come," she added, "at present it is done under the 
influence of necessity." And she pressed her old 
friend’s hand. 

Resolved not to do her work by halves and to take 
both of Adami’s children, Riekchen summoned her 
maid and began to make more noise in the house, just 
above the bedroom of Frau Roettger, who was at the 
moment puttin^her black cap of woolen lace upon 
her head. Black woolen lace seemed to her the most 
practical, it required no wa^hing and was durable. 

"Luischen!" she called into the room in which the 
maid was mending the fire, "what is the matter again 
up-stairs?" 

Luischen left the apartment to find out and returned 
with a face pale with affright. "For God’s sake, Frau 
Roettger, the mistress is setting up a second bed, a 
small one; she had it carried down from the upper 
floor and put next to her bedroom, and Katie says, 
not one, but two children are coming." 

"God have mercy on us!" exclaimed the horrified 
woman, "what is she thinking of? Our house is no 
foundling’s home!" And on the spur of the moment 


26 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


she rushed up the broad oak staircase and entered the 
open door cf a small alcove room which had served 
her late father, the justice, as an office. There now 
stood a small latticed bedstead in which once both 
sisters had dreamed their childish dreams and in 
which Fraulein Riekchen was just laying a pillow to 
answer for a feather-bed. 

"Well, I would not believe it — now I see it," said 
Frau Roettger in a low voice. 

"I can scarcely believe it myself, ” replied her sister, 
taking an old chintz curtain from the table in order 
to hold it up to the window. 

"At least you seem to wish to furnish more simply 
for this new addition," came from Frau Minna’s 
quivering lips, "or will it all be newly papered and 
painted, and will dozens of the most expensive toys 
be piled up here as they are for the prince over there?" 
She pointed to the door opposite, above which hung a 
simple "God bless your entrance!" framed in fir 
branches. 

Riekchen made no reply and began - to fasten the 
dotted, red material up at the window. What should 
she have said? Any remark would have caused the 
storm to burst, the storm which had lurked in the air 
of that house so long, and she wanted peace,- peace 
for the children’s sakes. 

The excited woman controlled herself in the face of 
this composure, she only heaved a deep sigh and 
said: "Did father and mother know of it, they would 
turn in their graves, not once, but twice!'” With 
these words she left the room, to put on her black 
silk for she was invited to a coffee-party at Frau Ger- 
bach’s, where all met to partake of punch and cake. 
There she sat and with eyes upturned to heaven main- 


NOT ONE, BUT TWO CHILDREN COMING 


27 


tained that an old maid was a veritable cross. Riek- 
chen had caprices innumerable, but she, she washed her 
hands in innocence. Everything would be topsy-turvy. 
"Well, you will see, children, depend upon it!" 


CHAPTER III. 


rika’s charges. 

Ash Wednesday, and everything quiet, melancholy 
and still; the adults complained of headache, the 
children of disordered stomachs, and in addition a 
disagreeable east wind was blowing, which even through 
the crevices in the windows sought its victims with 
sore throats and colds. 

Frau Roettger was having a large washing done; 
what cared she for the reception festivities above- 
stairs? The damp air of the laundry found its way to 
the large hall hung with portraits darkened by age, 
and mingled with the odor of freshly baked cake which 
came from the Fraulein’s new kitchen up-stairs. For 
Frau Minna had declared that henceforth it would be 
better for each family to maintain a separate estab- 
lishment. 

Frau Roettger prided herself upon always speaking 
her mind "frankly.” That this praiseworthy maxim 
could be applied in a manner which might prove in- 
sulting, she did not realize; with her, rudeness and 
truth were synonymous. Her saying was: "I cannot 
dissemble. He who does not like me as I am, can 
stay away from me. Such an affected, considerate 
manner as Riekchen has, is disgusting to me, it is 
neither one thing nor the other, it is neither lukewarm 
nor hot, basta!” 

"You must go into the sitting-room, silly boy, and 
28 


RIKA'S CHARGES 


29 


do not stand gaping, when the strange children 
come!” she said roughly to her son. 

Fritz made a wry face, for he had already had to 
refuse his aunt’s invitation to partake of supper with 
her; but there could be no rebellion against his moth- 
er's will. He contented himself with a seat at the 
window from which post he watched the gate in the 
wall as anxiously as if he were at a standing in the 
forest. 

Up-stairs someone else sat at the window and waited. 
It was a medium-sized, comfortable room with wains- 
coting and dark beams. In the center of the room 
under a hanging-lamp stood an old, massive oak table ; 
against the wall beside the stove of brick, around 
which ran a wooden seat, hung an empty book-shelf ; 
it had yet to be filled. Several maps, a couple of 
pictures, representations from Roman history, a desk 
and a bed completed the furniture. But the table 
contained a veritable Christmas store of games, sol- 
diers, books, the whole wreathed with fir-branches. 
This was the room which little Friedrich Adami was 
to occupy; at the first glance it could be seen that 
hope and love had furnished it. 

Fraulein Riekchen’s heart almost ceased beating when 
the bell without was rung. Old Dora, who had been in 
service in the family just when Riekchen was forced to 
part with her lover, and who, now a widow,at the frau- 
lein’s request had accepted the position of housekeeper 
in the enlarged household, although, she firmly main- 
tained she could not work so well any more, ran, as 
quickly as her old feet would carry her down the 
stairs to the door, while her mistress remained up- 
stairs as if paralyzed and saw but one thing: a slen- 
der, fair-haired bo}^ crossing the court, and holding 
the doctor’s hand. 


30 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


Her feet trembled. Like a decrepit woman she 
dragged herself to the door of the room and out into 
the hall, where she leaned gasping against the bal- 
usters. “My boy," she whispered with emotion, “my 
darling, poor boy, welcome!" She drew the supple 
form of the slender boy to her, gazed in his face, 
pressed her lips upon the fair head, and bright tears 
from her eyes fell upon the curly, thick hair, the 
same hair as his father’s. "Your name is Friedrich, 
like your father’s? Did you want to come to me? 

I long to love you, Friedrich — you understand me, you 
speak German?" 

With some embarrassment he freed himself from the 
strange lady’s arms. “Yes! ’’ said he, looking past 
her, “but Italian is prettier.” 

The doctor laughed in confusion. “Oscar,” he 
called out, “are you not coming?” 

For several minutes from the landing place had been 
heard the persuasive voice of a man. “Yes! Yes!” 
cried the same voice, “the little rascal is sitting here 
on the stairs and cannot be induced to go any farther. 
Well, then come,' you piece of obstinacy,” he con- 
tinued, “I will carry you!” 

Then followed the cry of a frightened child, and 
soon after at a turning in the stairs appeared a man 
with a broad-brimmed hat, bearing in his arms a 
strange, little creature. It lay in them like a doll, 
its head bent, its eyes half-closed, a defiant expression 
about its mouth and its fists clenched. 

“Where shall the little lady’s introduction take 
place?” asked the doctor’s brother, the sculptor, Oscar 
Kortum, jocularly; “it will probably be best forme to 
bring her in at once, else the shy bird may again be- 
gin to beat its wings on the threshold.” 


RIKA’S CHARGES 


31 


Fraulein Riekchen opened the door of the boy’s 
room, and there the artist stood upon two tiny feet, 
a very droll, little creature; from an odd, gayly-striped 
shawl which was wrapped around her form, a pale 
face surrounded by a mass of dark, curly hair, looked 
forth. Motiojilessly the small personage, thoroughly 
foreign, stood there; the only things that stirred 
about her were the large, gold rings in her pretty 
ears. 

“Go to the lady and give her your hand,” said the 
sculptor in Italian. But the two brown hands were 
tightl}^ clasped, the lips compressed and two large, 
dark eyes looked timidly from beneath their long lashes 
at the tall lady who still had her arms around her 
brother. “Come to me, little girl,” said Riekchen. 
But her voice did not sound as it had when she ad- 
dressed the brother. “Come, my child, what is your 
name?” 

“Julia,” replied the boy in her stead, “Julia, like 
mamma. ” 

“Come here, Julia!" Riekchen Trautmann spoke im- 
patiently and commandingly, her face was suddenly 
overspread by a deep crimson flush. And when the 
child silently drew back, she drew her toward her, and 
kneeling down before her, took her by the shoulders 
and looked in the thin pale little face beneath the 
tangled locks. 

“Not a trace of him — strange, strange!" said the 
heart, and every tender feeling vanished. “This is 
her child, the child of the one who possessed the hap- 
piness which should have been mine in the sight of 
God and men!” She could find no loving word for 
the trembling girl; almost violently she pushed her 
away and rose. 


32 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“Dora,” cried she to the- old servant, “lay off her 
warm wraps and take her over to her room." Then 
she turned again to the boy who stood beside the table 
and with sparkling e5'es examined the treasures placed 
there for him. 

“These are yours, Friedrich — look at them and then 
we will eat. If you please, gentlemen — "she stepped 
to the door, “in the meantime, v/ill you enter m}^ 
sittingcroom, and allow me to thank 5>ou, Herr Oskar 
Kortum, for the great service you have done me. 

The brothers hastily exchanged glances. The younger 
sighed. “I am sorry for the little girl, ’’ he murmured, 
so that the elder only understood him. 

“Wait a while! ” consoled the other. 

^ ^ 

Meanwhile Frau Minna was working in the kitchen ; 
as the maid was assisting with the wash, she to-day 
prepared the meal. The odor of the roast meat from 
the upper story, where the dcotor and the “airy" sculp- 
tor from Florence, who had brought the “good-for- 
nothing things,” were dining did not improve her humor. 
And when Fritz looked into the kitchen and asked, if 
he really might not eat up»stairs — Aunt Riekchen had 
invited him again — she was thoroughly exasperated. 
“I don’t care!” she cried, flinging a cover so violently 
on the bubbling meat-pot that it resounded like janizacy 
music. She then hastened into the wash-house, and 
not one article was washed to suit her; there followed 
severe censure and bitter words, and finally she seated 
herself in her kitchen apron in the arm-chair at the 
window and resolved to have her own sister interdicted 
for extravagance and unaccountableness. 

“And two at once! Two at once!" she muttered; 


rika’s charges 


33 


“the second is utterly superfluous. It is a sin and a 
shame — one might die on that account!” 

Just at this moment above her resounded a child’s 
scream, yelling and ill-natured, as Frau Roettger said; 
then Riekchen’s voice, louder than it had ever been 
heard in this house, and now the listener distinguished 
Dora’s high voice. “Well, that is fine! ” said Frau 
Minna to herself. “Heavens, when I recall what a 
face Riekchen made if my boy screamed once!” Sud- 
denly all grew silent, but Luischen, with sleeves rolled 
up and a wet apron, entered her mistress’ room. ' Did 
madam hear?” she asked eagerly. 

“Of course, I am not deaf!” 

“Ah, how frightened I was! I shall have to grow 
accustomed to it! The little one, the girl, is said to 
be so naughty; Katie from up stairs, says she turned 
blue with stubbornness.” 

“You should attend to your wash!" 

“I am going, madam, but I never heard anything 
like it, that a child should become so savage when 
kindness is shown it. It is too bad about the new 
doll, Katie just put the pieces on the dust-pile." 

Frau Roettger looked out of the window, and Luis- 
chen retired ; but she heard the lady fold her hands 
and say: “Great God, what a burden, what a burden! 
What a good-for-nothing thing!" 

On this day from Fraulein Trautmann’s cozy bed- 
room peace had flown. At midnight she still paced 
up and down, her every nerve quivered. She took 
the candle and crept to the boy’s room; he was not 
asleep, he lay with open eyes, gazing at his new sur- 
roundings. 

“Go to sleep, my boy," she whispered, and bending 
over him she put back the locks which lay upon his 


34 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


white, finely-shaped forehead as saucily as they had 
upon his father’s. 

“Yes, aunt!” 

“Do you like it here?” she asked tenderly. 

“Oh yes!' — Fritz and I want to buy some rabbits to- 
morrow. He says if I want to, you will allow it." 

She was silent. 

“Is it not so, you will allow it?" he asked, throwing 
both arms around her neck and drawing her down to 
him. 

A “No! ” was on her tongue, for a short while be- 
fore she had refused her nephew that request, but the 
“No!" was changed to a “Yes!" under the influence 
of the boy’s affection. She was conscious of her weak- 
ness and she trembled for herself. 

“Now go to sleep! " 

“Yes, aunt!" 

She next went to the little girl’s bed. The child 
lay in the tiny white bed fast asleep, her mouth droop- 
ing bitterly, her fists clenched. Old Dora slept soundly 
among her piled-up pillows. Friederike placed the 
light on a table and stood with arms hanging at her 
sides and bowed head before this child. What a mis- 
erable character held sway within that fragile body! 
Her heart still quivered at the thought of the scene 
of the forenoon. Joyously had the boy shown his 
sister his treasures, and the girl had glanced at them 
with astonished eyes, without stirring. Then Riek- 
chen had held toward her a doll, a very plain, com- 
mon doll, which Katie in great haste had fetched 
from the nearest shop for a few groschens. because 
they had not even thought of a girl’s toys. But the 
little one did not take it; as she had done that morn- 
ing she put her hands behind her back and looked 


rika’s charges 


35 


contemptuously from the gay caricature to the small 
puppet show with which the boy was playing. Then 
Rieckhen impatiently took the doll and pressed it 
forcibly into the defiant, little creature’s arms — when 
something unexpected occurred. The child’s hands 
seized the bright doll and flung it so violently upon 
the ground that The porcelain head broke into a thou- 
sand pieces. An angry glance was cast upon the start- 
led donor, and the small personage with an inimitably 
haughty gesture turned her back to her. A foreign, 
terrible sensation bubbled up in Riekchen’s heart; 
she seized the child and led her severely into the 
room in which she was to sleep, and there — how could 
she be so furious? — there she struck the naughty, 
brown hands, until loud shrieks were uttered, tearless, 
terrible shrieks, which made her ears ring. Dora at 
length succeeded in quieting the little culprit. 

She had been too severe, Riekchen honestly con- 
fessed and yet she was not prepared to extend her 
hand to touch the tiny, childish face caressingly. 
Suddenly she fell beside the bed and clung tearfully 
to the posts. “Lord,” she sobbed, “what a burden, 
what a heavy burden you have imposed upon me! 
Help me — my heart turns from this child, I do not 
understand myself any longer!” 

And she wept, until the old woman awoke. “Yes, 
yes, the child is a great trial, a great trial, Fraulein — 
but, you know, only kindness and patience will be of 
any avail.” 

At this moment the “great trial” talked in her 
sleep: “ Mania mia^ mia carissima mama\ ” It sounded 
as sweet, as soft, as if a bird were twittering in its 
sleep. Riekchen gazed upon the child’s face — it 
smiled; how charming it looked!” 


36 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


Ah, if she had smiled thus — and again the tears 
gushed from her eyes and she left the room hastily, 
for now she could not look at her charge as she 
should. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE TWO FAMILIES. 

A great trial was what every one considered the 
strange little girl who had entered the house so un- 
wished for and so unexpected, to none a greater trial 
than to her foster-mother, the least of a trial to old 
Dora. At the sight of her “Aunt ^s” tall form the 
child hastily fled to some corner like those pretty 
lizards which sun themselves among the ruins of Rome. 
Nothing, neither kindness or severity, aroused her 
from her apathy. Frau Roettger was likewise horrified 
at the gipsy-like creature, and described her to her 
friends in such terms that they were surprised one 
day to see her tripping to school with old Dora quite 
a human-looking being ; they fancied her as black as 
a Moor with woolly hair. 

The child was wonderfully attached to her work in 
school,' it was even difficult to induce her to go home, 
although when there she usually sat rigidly in her 
seat, her eyes fixedly upon her teacher, regardless of 
her companions. Dora occupied with her the tiny 
chamber in which there was just room for two beds, a 
sewing table and the child’s corner. Of all in the 
house, the old woman was the only one who knew 
how to manage “Julchen.” To be sure, the little 
one was always deaf when she was called “Julchen;” 
on being addressed thus, she was in the habit of re- 
maining motionlessly in her seat. But did the old 

37 


38 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


woman make up her mind to call “Julia,” in as soft a 
tone as her rough voice could speak it, the child 
obeyed immediately. 

Julia seemed to feel the happiest in this corner, 
and when from the adjoining room, aunt’s dressing- 
room, came the tones'of a violin, a smile flitted 
across the grave little face and her hands were clasped 
ecstatically, while she listened at the door. 

“You like Fritz?” asked Dora, when the girl flat- 
tened her dainty nose against t*he window-pane and 
with serious eyes watched the wild boys playing in 
the garden. But she received no answer. 

“Do you love your brother very dearly?” asked the 
woman. 

“Not so very!” replied the strange child. 

“Well, at least you are candid, almost as much so as 
Frau Roettger— upon whom may God have mercy!” 
And Dora recalled the fact, as she spoke, that this 
lady never gave the odd intruder any other name than 
“Miss Good-for-nothing!” 

At length the servants too used this name, as did 
the two boys, who had formed a strong friendship. 

Frau Minna suffered this friendship, for although 
Riekchen’s blind partiality for fair-haired Friedrich 
knew no bounds, she was yet so just toward her nephew, 
that she allowed him to share all the privileges 
she accorded' her foster* son. 

Friedrich Adami, or as Aunt Riekchen called him, 
“Frieder, ” gradually became master in the house, 
everything was arranged to suit him; only one glance 
of the boyish blue eyes was sufficient for his aunt, and 
his wish was granted. His youth was one long bliss- 
ful day. Riekchen could not even correct his mis- 
demeanors, his poor school-reports, his teacher’s com- 


THE TWO FAMILIES 


39 


plaints; she constantly found excuses for him, and 
the most she did, was to summon him to her room, 
and to implore with tears in her eyes: "Frieder, prom- 
ise me it shall not happen again!” " Which promise 
he readily gave, to forget it in the course of half an 
hour. 

Frieder was looked upon as one of the worst boys 
in the whole town. The doctor shook his head sadly 
when he returned home at night from the tavern "Zur 
Traube,” where too • the teachers of the gymnasium 
drank their wine, and frequently he said to his wife : 
"This is a woman’s discipline, what will come of it!” 

"You should interfere as guardian,” replied the 
latter. But he thought he could not do that, for as 
yet nothing had occurred to warrant interference on 
his part. It was fortunate that through all those long 
years Aunt Riekchen had not used the interest on her 
money and that she was now in a position to indulge 
her Frieder’ s desires. The boy was vain, he had to 
have everything very fine. Frau Roettger called it 
"affectation,” and her Fritz notwithstanding all com- 
plaints and prayers obtained only mended garments 
for every day; while Rieckhen excused Frieder’ s lean- 
ing toward elegance with the love of the beautiful, 
which he had inherited from his father who was an 
artist. 

Ah, she loved the handsome boy, loved him as only 
a heart can love which has thirsted for years, so anx- 
iously tender, so passionately blind, that she saw and 
was interested in nothing but the son of the deeply- 
mourned, truly loved man. It afforded her a painful 
yet sweet delight to seek resemblances in his face, 
as well as thoughts, expressions, gestures, and rap- 
turously she clasped the bo^ in her arms as she dis- 


40 


Miss GooD-Fok-MotHi^O 


covered them. She had in her possession a small 
bust of his father; a friend of his, a young sculptor, 
had once modeled it; during all the years of separa- 
tion it had stood upon her sewing table as the greatest 
treasure of her solitude. There were moments when 
Frieder resembled this handsome head, as if he had 
served for model — and she loved these features which 
filled her heart so entirely that there was no room 
within it for the little reserved “Miss Good-for-noth- 
ing” who was so unlike her brother! The child liked 
her as little, the aversion was mutual, she thought; 
nor did the girl ever mention her father, she was 
generally very taciturn. But she was deprived of 
nothing, Riekchen surely desired only her good. 

The children had been in the house two years when 
a change took place. Frieder and Fritz at first began 
to treat one another coldly, then openly hostile, and 
one day the rupture came which involved the sympa- 
thies of the entire household and made such an irre- 
mediable schism in their friendship, that from hence- 
forth “up-stairs’ and “downstairs” were separated 
like two hostile camps, while even the servants took 
sides for “their” boys. 

It was a sultry day on which that happened, a ver- 
itable day of misfortune from the outset. Fraulein 
Riekchen awoke with a headache. Old Dora then in- 
formed her that Miss Good-for-nothing had outgrown 
her last summer’s dresses so, tbat new ones would 
have to be obtained, and Riekchen, to whom nothing 
for Frieder was too much, sighed deeply. Below in 
the hall Frau Roettger was quarreling with the gar- 
dener, for the snails had destroyed "the young peas in 
the vegetable beds, the man disrespectfully replied he 
had not created the insects, to which remark he re- 


•the two families 


41 


ceived a still sharper answer, which had the effect of 
calling forth another angry retort and finally he was 
threatened by the exasperated woman with immediate 
dismissal. 

Fraulein Riekchen terrified at this dispute descended 
the stairs; she disliked strife. Her sister, who was 
just going up-stairs, met her on the landing of the 
broad staircase and in great agitation began to com- 
plain that she had had enough of the old, gruff — when 
the house door flew open and both boys rushed in. 
Frau Roettger’s words died upon her lips, for the 
door was closed noisily, and the next instant the boys^ 
school knapsacks were flung into a corner and they 
fell upon one another like fighting-cocks. 

It all happened so quickly that the two women 
scarcely knew how the angry combatants, who strug- 
gled on the floor and in dumb fury struck each other, 
had come there. Breathless silence reigned for sev- 
eral seconds, then there was a heavy fall and Fritz 
said hoarsely: "So, you Roman dog, you have your 
reward!” And Frieder lay pale upon the floor, his 
face distorted by rage and shame. The other rushed 
into the corner, seized his knapsack and was about to 
go into the garden, when Aunt Riekchen stood before 
him. 

"What are you thinking of, you miserable boy!" 
she cried, "How could you raise your coarse fists 
against one weaker than yourself! Go — I never want 
to hear anything more of you — never!” 

The robust boy looked at her calmly: his breath 
came quickly, he was still excited, but not for a mo- 
ment did he forget to whom he was speaking. 

"You do not know the reason, aunt,” said he, turn- 
ing and disappearing through the back door. 


42 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


But Frau Minna conducted herself like a heroic 
mother. “Well, I do not blame the boy, he has 
suffered enough lately,” she declared with composure. 

“What?” cried Riekchen, who was now trembling, 
"do you take your bad boy’s part — are you not ashamed? 
Have you entirel}^ forgotten how dearly I always loved 
Fritz and that I had to expect some consideration for 
the poor, fatherless child? You must punish your 
son — severely — I ask you to do so.” 

“I have no idea of it! ” replied her sister, "^^unish 
your own, Fritz is evidently not to blame.” 

“Come!” Aunt Riekchen turned to Frieder who had 
just risen and was examining his torn coat-sleeve, 
“come! If other boys behave common, you have no 
right to do so likewise. Go up to your room; I am 
seriously angry.” 

So the couple ascended the stairs; Frau Roettger 
fetched her son from the garden, and examinations 
were made up-stairs and down, but in both cases with- 
out results. 

“Mother," said Fritz, “do not ask me anything more; 
Frieder is a very bad boy.” 

Frieder could illy conceal a certain confusion behind 
assumed magnanimity. “Don’t, Aunt, he meant no 
harm.” 

Aunt Riekchen, outwardly still angry, inwardly 
touched, sought her sitting-room. “He has aristocratic 
feelings,” said she, “and boys often fight. He will 
not tell me the cause, that is noble.” Nevertheless 
she informed him that as his punishment he should 
this day eat alone in his room, and not leave the same 
until he had come to ask pardon. She felt she must 
be strict for once. 

She did not see her foster-son’s grimaces as she 


THE TWO FAMILIES 


43 


turned her back. Friedrich Adami clenched his fists 
when she had disappeared. Was it not absurd of her 
to put him there? Bah! He need not to obey, he 
would simply go into the garden; he would pay up 
the coarse rascal downstairs with the big fists. What 
mattered it to him, if the white rabbit ran into his 
partition, instead of remaining in the stupid fellow’s, 
and how was it, that immediately after this dispute 
he palpably took his aunt’s part? He, Friedrich 
Adami could call her whatever he -liked. Of course 
— if Fritz were to tell that he had called his foster- 
mother "an old frump" with whom he could do what 
he wanted, for she had become foolishly fond of him 
— it would be extremely disagreeable. 

He was on the point of escaping to the garden when 
the door opened and old Dora appeared with his 
food. 

"Frieder,” said she, "what have you been doing? 
Vexing your kind aunt? You are not worthy that 
she should love you so. There see ; with her own 
hand she fetched you this quince jam from the store- 
room. ” 

About the handsome boy’s lips trembled a mocking 
smile. As a punishment she sent him his favorite 
dainty! He was right in what he said! He gave up 
his resolutions to go into the garden and seated him- 
self at the table with a large appetite. 

"Apologize to her afterward," warned the old wo- 
man. 

'T have nothing to apologize for!" he replied. 

"Then you cannot come down." 

"I shall come if I want to— but I do not want to." 

Evening came. The storm-clouds had dispersed, 
it was cooler out-of-doors. Friedrich Adami awaited 


44 


MISS GOOD-POR-NOTHING . 


his aunt, his aunt awaited him, neither wished to 
yield. The boy stood at the window; below, Fritz 
was going into the rabbit-hutch, he was whistling 
gayly; he was better off. Now probably he was tak- 
ing back his possession, the pretty white rabbit, and 
making the door doubly secure that it would not yield 
again. Across the court came a moist, bracing breeze, 
no doubt from the Rhine; the boy inhaled it. Just 
to-day he felt more attracted than ever toward the 
stream, that he might stretch his aching limbs in the 
green, clear flood. 

Well, why should he not humor the “old lady” by 
begging her pardon? He took his straw-hat and stole 
over to the sitting-room. 

His aunt was not there, instead in the midst of the 
rosy light of the setting sun, which filled magically 
the deep window-niche, stood his sister on a chair 
before their aunt’s sewing table; she had both arms 
firmly against the wall, so that she almost embraced 
the small console upon which was her father’s bust. 
The dark, little head was bent forward and her red 
lips touched tenderly the brow of the inanimate face. 
There lay in the little one’s manner a shy, sweet affec- 
tion, which would have moved anyone. 

It is not expected of brothers in general, especially 
of young brothers, that they shall admire their sisters; 
but that this heroic brother should employ his hand 
to push the little girl’s head so violently against the 
plaster cast that by the clash it fell from the console 
upon the floor and broke, was not to be excused even 
by the lack of feeling in brothers. 

“Stupid thing! ” cried he, startled himself, “what 
have you done now!” 

At this moment Aunt Riekchen entered. The girl 


THE TWO FAMILIES 


45 


motionless with fright still stood upon the chair, the 
pale face was strangely rigid, and the woman, who 
could be kindness itself, was goaded almost to cruelty 
by the sight of her broken treasure. 

“You horrible, mischievous child!” she exclaimed, 
“did you come here only to bring me misfortune? 
Would to God I had never seen you!” She snatched 
the trembling child from the chair and pushed her 
away, so that the tiny form fell at the door powerless. 

Dora raised her. Silently, trembling the child lay 
in her arms, while a drop of blood trickled from her 
beautifully-arched upper lip. 

“Julchen, dear Julchen!" implored the old woman 
tearfully, after having laid her charge upon her bed 
and having washed off the blood, “what have you 
done? For God’s sake tell me!” 

But no word of complaint passed the lips contracted 
with pain. 

Aunt Riekchen did not want to see her, she had 
said, and) too, she should go to bed hungry! And so 
the child sat there, while below in the garden under 
the nut-trees, sat her brother, again restored to favor, 
supping by the side of his aunt, so she sat there in 
the twilight at the window, her eyes fixed upon the 
river, with an expression sad beyond her years, and 
listened to the nightingales warbling below, and to 
the gentle ripple of the stream. From time to time 
on the opposite shore gleamed a flash of lightning, 
enveloping the garden in a red light. All alone she 
sat there, for Dora had gone to see her married step- 
daughter. 

Was she angry or cold? She could not have told. 
She only yearned for kindness, for love, for a caress- 
ing word, she yearned so deeply. But no one, no one 


46 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


cared for her. Just then the door creakod slightly and 
someone stole in softly. “Here!" said the low voice 
of Fritz, who up to this time had scarcely deigned to 
glance at her, “here, little Good-for-nothing, Luischen 
says you ha've had nothing to eat to-night — " The 
tall boy stooped and laid a sandwich in the. child^s 
lap. “Do not cry. Good-for-nothing," he stammered, 
“eat!" 

She was not weeping but she did not eat either; she 
continued to stare at the door through which the boy 
had disappeared; her tiny heart throbbed violently 
and a flood of warmth rushed over her. As a ray of 
sunshine benefits the bud which has scarcely dared 
to come forth, so had the lonely, childish heart been 
benefitted by these few awkward words, and a spark 
was kindled in the timid soul, which was one day to 
.. grow into a powerful blaze. And when at night Miss 
Good-for-nothing’s hands were clasped in prayer, the 
name of “Fritz" was murmured by her lips, as it was 
in all of her prayers after that. 

From this time Aunt Riekchen treated the “mischiev- 
ous child" more coldly. “Up-stairs" and “downstairs" 
were not on good terms; “good morning" and “good 
night" were exchanged by the sisters, to be sure, but 
their rupture was complete. The boys went to school 
alone and returned alone — they were not in the same 
class, for Frieder took time for his studies, while 
Fritz learned quicker. And so, separately, the adults 
proceeded toward the autumn of their lives, the 
youths toward the spring-time; suddenly they were in 
the midst of this spring-time, and the children had 
become adults. 


CHAPTER V. 


NO MORE DARKNESS IN THE WORLD. 

It is indeed a day of delight on which a maiden at- 
tains her eighteenth year; it possesses a peculiar 
charm, especially if the day falls at the end of May, 
when all the rose-buds are about to open, when the 
Rhine flows past the rose-garden, and the perfume of 
flowers fills the air. One can picture to one^s self the 
child, as she, with glowing eyes and in a white dress 
flits through the garden and, filled with pure delight 
in life, longs to embrace everyone. 

Such may be the case — bui :t was not so with Miss 
Good-for-nothing on the May day on which she vyas 
eighteen. She awoke very early, but with no different 
sensations; no trace of joyful expectation was to be 
seen upon her face. 

The tiny room was now hers alone; Frau Dora was 
no longer in the house, she lived in apartments some- 
where in town, her services were no longer required. 
"Julchen” was grown-up, the young master away from 
home, so Aunt Riekchen dismissed the old woman 
and kept only one maid, a young girl of fifteen. Julia 
must learn to keep house. 

The maiden was not at all surprised to-day that no 
myrtle-bush, no bouquet was at her bedside, that no 
loving face bent over hers, no loving voice said : “God 
bless you, darling!” As usual she made her toilet, 
opened the window, inhaled the morning air, while 

4T 


48 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


she braided her long, blue-black hair, the curly locks 
of former days, and which she now twisted into a 
simple knot at the back of her head. She had grown 
tall and slender, yet her form was well developed; 
she looked still more foreign than she had as a child; 
she probably resembled her mother. Her nose was 
slightly arched, her brow low, her chin round and 
firm, the whole lighted up by two glittering dark eyes, 
in which, as Frau Roettger expressed herself, "some- 
thing shimmered, something — well, one could see 
whaty did the long lashes veil them ever so carefully. " 

Her attire was extremely simple. Aunt Ricekhen 
considered it advisable to mitigate her striking appear- 
ance as much as possible. A light-blue cotton dress, 
over it an apron which the girl had made as dainty 
as she was permitted to, constituted her birthday 
toilet. How could it be any different, when, in cele- 
bration of the day a large washing was to be done? 
Her treasured ear-rings had long since been taken 
from her, but to this day Julia mechanically raised 
her hand to the tip of her ear when perplexed, as she 
had formerly been in the habit of doing, when at such 
times she turned the rings around, until her aunt 
rapped her fingers. To-day she looked in the mirror 
a little longer than usual, and when it struck seven 
o’clock, she hastened to the kitchen to see to break- 
fast, waiter in hand, she entered the sitting-room 
where Aunt Riekchen sat at the open window and 
looked toward her with a pale face which had aged 
considerably. 

"Good morning. Aunt!" said the young girl. 

"Good morning, Julia!" was the measured reply. 

The girl filled the cups and set the chair in place. 
"If you please. Aunt, breakfast is ready." 


NO MORE DARKNESS IN THE WORLD 


49 


Fraulein Reickhen advanced. "I congratulate you, 
my child,” said she, touching the girl’s brow with her 
lips. “Here is^a trifle for you.” She thrust a package 
into her hand. “Be very careful with it, you know — " 

A deep sigh closed this speech, and Riekchen leaned 
back in her chair and stirred the contents of her cup. 

A flush of joy flitted over the girl’s face. “Thank 
you, dear Aunt — may I do what I like with the mon- 
ey?” she asked without raising her eyes. 

“Yes, provided that it is nothing absurd; that is — I 
hoped you would save it,” was the reply. 

Miss Good-for-nothing was silent, but her pleasure 
in the gift had vanished. 

“To-day, toward evening,” continued her aunt, 
“when the wash is off the lines, you must go to the 
dressmaker’s, she must alter a white dress for you. I 
wore it when a girl. The doctor’s wife intends invit- 
ing you to the Whitsuntide party; at eighteen you have 
a right to the enjoyments of youth. “ 

“Ah, Aunt,” objected the young girl, “let me remain 
at home, I do not know the people, and — ” 

“If I only knew, Julia, why you are so haughty and 
reserved. You will go! I wish it, if only that they 
shall not say I allow you to do nothing and treat you 
as a step-child.” 

The girl said no more. She filled the old lady’s 
cup a second time and prepared to leave the room. 

“I pray you to see that the wash is not so celestially 
blue as it was last time! ” Fraulein Riekchen called 
after her and then she drew an unopened letter from 
the pocket of her gray dress ; before she broke the 
seal she took a deep breath and the color came and 
went in her cheeks. 

In the hall below stood all sorts of furniture, and 


50 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


Frau Roettger’s maid, as well as the frau herself beat 
clouds of dust from the brown rep cushions. The 
doors of two rooms, those of the young master, to 
whom these stiff birch chairs and sofa belonged, were 
wide open, and the char- woman scrubbed the floor with 
a zeal which led one to conclude that she stood in awe 
of Frau Roettger who unremittingly watched her work. 
The young girl’s "Good morning!” died away in the din 
of the beating; Frau Minna had neither eye nor ear 
for her, and Miss Good-for-nothing could begin her 
birthday celebration at once. 

"If you would like to put the tablecloths and nap- 
kins in the water right away,” said the old washer- 
woman, ‘T will help carry the basket.” In a few min- 
utes the stream was reached. 

A narrow, rather steep footpath alone separated the 
garden from the river bank. Andersheim was not one 
of those places of the magnificent Rhine, in which the 
objectionable railway passes between stream and gar- 
dens ; this railroad ran back of the town, and on the 
water, especially in front of Trautmann’s garden, it 
was as idyllic as at the time when edge-rails and 
steam-cars belonged to the realm of unknown things. 
Steps led down to the stream, at their base lay the 
old skiff in the shade of the nut-trees whose branches 
overhung the garden wall, as if they wished to see 
their reflections in the delightful, clear, green flood. 

Julia drew in the skiff, entered it, took the basket 
with the wash, and when the old woman had disap- 
peared, stood for a while idly there and looked over 
the broad, glittering suB^ace toward’the meadow on 
the other side, over which hung a light, bluish mist. 
How delightful was this morning! The stream rushed 
along so solemnly, the golden rays of the sun danced 


NO MORE DARKNESS IN THE WORLD 


51 


SO merrily upon the thousands of tiny waves, the air 
was so fragrant — the young creature’s heart expanded 
and her eyes grew moist, involuntarily she clasped 
her hands. “If one were not so alone,’’ she murmured, 
then, too, in her dreamy eyes gleamed a couple of 
golden rays like two blessed stars, and she smiled, 
as she kneeled in the bow of the boat and indolently 
dipped a cloth in the water. 

Again she paused and stared dreamily before her, 
a melancholy expression about her mouth, an expres- 
sion which strangely changed her face; she now ut- 
tered a slight exclamation — the cloth had escaped from 
her fingers and was floating down the stream. 

“Great God! ’’ said the terrified child, “and it is the 
damask coffee-cloth with the adages interwoven!” 

She leaned forward, as far as possible, a stick in 
her hand, as if that could avail anything; then again 
she stood erect and with eyes wide-open, looked over 
at a boat which a sailor was propelling along the 
shore up the stream, and at the form of a man who 
was fishing up the cloth with the boat hook. 

“Hello!” cried a deep voice, “I should not have 
been surprised if Miss Good-for-nothing had commit- 
ted the heroic act of immersing herself to save a 
poor, imperilled piece of linen. So, it is really you. 
Good-for-nothing? ” 

The skiff was now quite close alongside the other 
one, a tall, broad-shouldered man was standing in 
it. His hat was raised above his brown head in 
greeting, while his other hand still held the boat-hook 
with the cloth attached. His eyes were fixed with 
undisguised astonishment on the girl who, her face 
pale with agitation, made a peculiarly charming pict- 
ure standing in the skiff which swayed slightly. 


52 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“Indeed,” said he finally, “I cannot doubt that it is 
you. Good-for-nothing Who in all the town would 
have such black hair and such eyes, and who else 
could stand there so proudly and with such classic 
composure but Julia Adami of Rome? How? You are 
washing on your eighteenth birthda}^? But that is 
classical too, child; in ancient times it was, I believe, 
the favorite occupation of the princes^ daughters — ” 
he threw the cloth in the bow of the boat, in which 
the girl stood, and swung himself over. “How do you 
do, again, Julia, my congratulations on your birth- 
day! " 

She slowly gave him a small, trembling hand, but 
her eyes did not meet his. They were still standing 
thus, when the man, who had rowed young Doctor 
Fritz Roettger thither, went down the stream ; she 
with downcast eyes, he gazing at her in surprise. 

Julia and Fritz were suddenly startled from their 
absorption by the passing of a steamer and by the 
violent disturbance of the water which caused the skiff 
to oscillate. The doctor laughed loudly and heartily. 
“See, Miss Good-for-nothing, you came near sharing 
the same fate as the poor cloth and I should have 
had to fish you out too. But tell me, child, what 
have you been doing with yourself during the past 
two years? You have grown half an ell and where 
is your thin, litttle face? You are — " The compli- 
ment died upon his tongue, for she blushed a rosy 
red. 

“Two years are a long time,” said she, resuming 
her work. “But where have you come from?” 

“Splash the water about some other time and sit 
down now! You are eternally washing at home, I can 
imagine nothing else. Where have I come from? 


NO MORE DARKNESS IN THE WORLD 


53 


From Berlin, that is this morning from Andersheim, 
yesterday from Cologne; and in order to surprise you, 
I came in the boat, to reach the house unseen.” 

"I believe your mother does not expect you until 
the evening of the Whitsuntide festival,” said she. 

“Yes, that may be; but Berlin suddenly became too 
unbearable. I had nothing more to do there, I left, 
and here I am, as you see.” 

“Shall you stay here?” was the hesitating inquiry. 

“Possibly; I have promised mother. Perhaps the 
honest citizens of Andersheim will put faith in me and 
commit their mortal bodies in sickness to my care.” 

“Do you not want to go in and see your mother?” 

“No! I am very well satisfied here, and mother will 
tremble in every limb, as she expresses it, soon enough. 
Tell me, rather, how are matters with you?" 

She had, in spite of his remonstrances, resumed her. 
washing. “Just the same,” said she, as several drops 
lighted on her hair and lay there like glittering stones. 

He remained silent and watched her. What an odd 
girl Miss Good-for-nothing had become and what a 
despondent ring there was in her words : “Just the 
same!" He felt depressed; was he to share the “Just 
the same!” for his entire life? 

“Good-for-nothing,” he implored, trying to exercise 
his thoughts, “leave that washing,, surely the maid can 
do it; it is horrible! Enjoy your young life!” He 
suddenly drew her upon the seat beside him and put 
his arm around her. “You used always to give me a 
kiss when I came home, do you remember? And when 
I went away too. To-day, on your birthday, I must 
give you one!” And before she realized what was 
taking place, he had pressed his handsome brown 
mustache on her rosy lips. 


54 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


She quickly freed herself and looked at him. For 
an instant the golden gleams in the dark eyes ^arkled 
strangely, then her lids fell and an expression of vex- 
ation became visible upon her faee. “Pray, cease, I 
am no longer a child,” said she. 

"No offense. Miss Good-for-nothing!” He rose and 
leaped nimbly from the boat, from the shore he bowed 
low and ascended the steps. “It is only that mother 
may quickly kill the fatted calf. Good-for-nothing — 
until we meet again!” 

She gazed after him, all the color had vanished from 
her face. She sat there powerlessly, suddenly she put 
her hands to her eyes as if the sun and the play of the 
waves dazzled them, and she was still sitting thus, when 
the old woman brought the second basket of clothes. 

The young doctor rushed into his mother’s sitting- 
room just at a time he would not have chosen, had 
he had any suspicions of what was taking place there. 
There like one who was chilly stood his mother at the 
fireless stove, for it as summer, with a flushed, angry 
face, while at the window sat Aunt Riekchen, very 
pale, a letter in her hand. 

“You, Fritz?” exclaimed his mother, as she saw 
him. “Well, that is fortunate, 3^ou have come op- 
portunely!” And after a hasty kiss the agitated wo- 
man drew him to his aunt’s chair. “Now tell her, 
Fritz, she does not believe me.” 

“How do you do, aunt! What is it 3^ou do not 
again believe?" he asked good-naturedly. 

“That Frieder is a — a — profligate — to be plain!” cried 
Frau Roettger. 

Aunt Reikchen looked at her stately nephew like a 
wounded doe. “Mercy, Fritz, mercy!” said her tear- 
ful eyes. 


NO NORE DARKNESS IN THE WORLD 


55 


“Unfortunately I can tell you nothing of Frieder, 
Aunt," said the young physician in a kind, grave voice, 
“I scarcely ever meet him on the street. You may 
not be able to understand it, but in such a large city, 
where every one has his own road to travel, why — " 

“I am sorry, Fritz, that you still avoid each other." 

“Aunt, that is in the natural course of events. 
Officers hold themselves — must hold themselves exclu- 
sive; it is not done purpoesly by either of us," he 
comforted. 

“You need not pretend that you do not know how 
Herr Adami plays the lord!" said the mother with her 
delightful candor. “Ladies, dinners, suppers in the 
finest places! If he does not know it, / can tell you, 
Riekchen, it is so ! Do not any longer refuse to be- 
lieve the fact and shorten your son’s allowance, or 
what I predicted eight yeas ago when the boy ran up 
the large account at the confectioner’s, will come to 
pass — I told you then, you would yet leave this house 
a beggar." 

“I pray you," exclaimed Aunt Rieckhen indignantly, 
“do not bring up the long since forgotten matter. 
Moreover, I will intrude no longer, as we cannot 
agree. I am very glad to see you, Fritz, and wish 
you God’s richest blessings," she said to the young 
doctor, then she hastily left the room, that her relatives 
might not see the tears which gushed from her eyes. 

Frau Roettger looked after her. “Stubborn to the 
last!" cried she. 

"What did aunt want, dear mother?" he questioned. 

“What did she want? Money! A mortgage on 
the house!” 

“Great God, has it gone so far? "he asked with gen- 
uine sorrow. 


56 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


"Long ago! Two years ago I gave her three thou- 
sand dollars on the house. She is so afraid that out- 
siders will find out her affairs. To-day she came to 
me again for another loan. It is a pity! She has not 
enough now to cover the expenses of her more than 
simple household; she saves in every way, they al most 
starve. The good servant has been discharged, and 
Fraulein Julia has to work. That is just it, if she did 
not have her, she could eat at my table, I would be 
pleased to have her. But ‘Good-for-nothing’ is there 
and has to be maintained like a princess." 

The young doctor laughed. "Do the princesses of 
to-day wash clothes in the Rhine?" 

"Well, do not laugh too soon. Riekchen has just 
told me that from now on the ‘young lady’ will attend 
the Casino fetes." 

"Why not?" 

"Good heavens, how much it will cost! Why the 
clothes — " 

"Never mind that. Can you not help aunt?" 

"Certainly! I told her, I would buy the house; at 
a moderate price, to be sure. But what do you think 
she wants, it is simply absurd! I told her she could 
have her rooms free, the use of the garden — but she 
insists upon the sum. It would be terrible, were it to 
fall into other hands," continued the old lady with a 
sigh, "it is so well-situated for your purpose — the 
new town with its villas and their aristocratic occu- 
pants so near by. Only 07 ie way would be endurable, 
if Herr Krautner next door would buy it." 

She paused. "You will have to marry, Fritz; an 
unmarried doctor is a nonentity. So a wife is the 
most necessary thing for you at present." 

The tall, handsome man burst into a loud lugh. 


NO MORE DARKNESS IN THE WORLD 


57 


“Mother, do you know what is the most necessary 
thing?" he cried. “Breakfast!" 

Then for the first time did the old lady realize that 
her son, whom she had not seen for two years, had sur- 
prised her and was there, really and truly. She ran 
actively to and fro and brought in what the larder and 
cellar had to offer, as she did so excusing herself that 
unfortunately his rooms were not in order. And as at 
length she sat there and watched him eat, she said 
once more : "It is really necessary, Fritz, that you 
look about for a wife; what paterfamilias would sum- 
mon you, a bachelor, to attend his wife and his daugh- 
ters? We might this afternoon — " 

“Well, what might we do?" he asked gayly. 

“Pay a few calls, at Eisemann^s and Krautner’s 
perhaps — ” 

“Is there such haste?" 

“If people are neighbors and talk across the hedge 
in the evening — and Thereschen, too, frequently sits 
with us in the arbor — " 

“Is that so? Thereschen? Who is that?" 

“Herr Krautner’s daughter; Julchen and Thereschen 
are friendly, they are of one ago. Were I in Riek- 
chen’s place I would not allow it, for the girl only learns 
how rich folks live, but — what is it my business! Tell 
me, do you really know nothing of Frieder?" 

"Mother," replied the young man, “do not ask me 
about him; talking will do no good. I am only sorry 
for those two up-stairs." 

“Tell me! Tell me!" cried his mother, but he did 
not hear her. He must see to his luggage, he called 
out to her. 

When the home-returning son fancied that the cus- 
tomary roast of veal would be served at dinner in his 


S8 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


honor, he made a mistake. There was nothing but 
the usual meal on cleaning and washing days “and 
therewith avast!” as Frau Roettger said. Well, he 
was no glutton and he ate the sweet and sour liver 
balls. But, whether it was owing to the smell of the 
scrubbing or to the fact that he could not enter his 
still damp room to see it to rights until toward even- 
ing — he felt exceedingly uncomfortable. 

His mother was enjoying her afternoon siesta in 
the sitting-room, and up-stairs could be heard the 
grinding of a coffee-mill. He stepped to the door of 
his future study How bare it was! Well, when his 
books and instruments were once unpacked, then — 
but, great heavens, where should he put them? There 
was no cupboard for them! ' Suddenly it occurred to 
him that there must be in the garret the bookshelves 
out of his late grandfather’s office, and smoking a 
cigar he leisurely ascended the stairs, crept softly 
across the hall, that he might not disturb his grieved 
aunt’s nap, and climbed the steep attic-stairs. 

Such snug attics filled with all sorts of lumber, 
such solid beams and such mysterious twilight in 
which spiders weave their webs and old, feudal gen- 
erations of mice live in constant fear of the cat, are 
no longer to be found in new-fashioned houses in 
which every corner is put to use by the occupants. 
The young doctor had always liked the attic from the 
time of his childhood, when they hid here, played 
cards in the most secluded corner and made their first 
attempts at smoking. Only up there did he begin to 
feel at home, and truly, there still hung the rope with 
which he had swung Miss Good-for-nothing, and there 
in the chimney-corner stood the old broken spinning- 
wheel, to turn which had been the little girPs silent 
delight. 


NO MORE DARKNESS IN THE WORLD 


59 


He eagerly set about clearing out of the way all 
kinds of boxes, chairs and broken rubbish, in order 
to reach the book-shelves he was in search of, and 
which were beneath this heap of old stuff, at the same 
time soliloquizing softly: “It is not beautiful, but to 
begin with — later on, if I must marry, as mother says, 
new things can be obtained — “ 

At that moment he paused; the door of the dormer 
chamber opposite creaked, and turning quickly, he 
saw the door slowly close. 

“Are there really ghosts here?” he cried, and with 
two bounds he was at the door and shook it — one 
shake, and the small hand which had held it on the 
inside gave way; Fritz stood before Miss Good-for- 
nothing. 

“So it is you?” he said in surprise. “Do you still 
hide?” 

“Oh please, go!” she besought in confusion. But 
he did not go. 

“I shall see what you are doing up here,” said he, 
crossing the threshold. Then he ceased — 

In a corner, just under the blinking, sleepy-looking 
attic window, where old panes shimmered with all 
the colors of the’ rainbow, stood an old arm-chair with 
moth-eaten cushions at a table upon the surface of 
which were all the materials for water-color painting. 
A number of leather-cases, probably intended for 
postage-stamps, lay in a small basket, and half a 
dozen more already painted were placed there, like a 
row of soldiers, to dry. He took one of the boxes in 
his hand and examined it. The flying dove, carrying 
a note at its neck on a blue ribbon, seemed to have 
been painted with a few bold strokes; the position 
of the bird’s wings were true to nature and notwith- 


6o 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


Standing the hackneyed subject, it was pretty and 
original, although it betrayed a hand as yet unskilled. 

He looked from the dove to the girl. She stood 
before him, impatient and pale, her teeth upon her 
under lip. 

“I had no idea that you painted, Julia,” said he, 
“but, for God’s sake, how came you to this monoto- 
nous occupation? For whom? Why do you hatch 
doves by three-scores? Does Aunt Riekchen know 
it?” 

“No one! Nor are you to know it — please, forget 
it!" 

“But, Good-for-nothing, do not be so unkind,” he 
implored. “I thought you knew from bygone days 
that we are good friends. Did I ever betray you? 
Indeed I am heartily glad that you do something be- 
sides washing; only this — ” he pointed to the boxes, 
“wholesale manufacture is incomprehensible to me. 
Say, child, are you trading on your favorite occupa- 
tion? Pocket-money — eh? Have you had instruction? 
You must surely have painted something else? Show 
it to me, please!” And he seized the old, worn-out 
portfolio from which paper peeped forth, paper, such 
as is used for water-colors. 

"Leave it there!” she commanded with an angry 
glance, stamping her foot upon the floor. “It is only 
nonsense,” she added, “good-for-nothing like my- 
self. I once gave aunt a picture like it for a Christ- 
mas gift and — received a sharp rebuke for it. In- 
struction? Where should I obtain instruction? I 
would learn nothing anyway. That — ” she pointed 
contemptuously to the leather boxes— -"that I do — be- 
cause — for my own especial amusement,” she con- 
cluded, crossing her arms ; at this moment she re- 


NO MORE DARKNESS IN THE WORLD 


6i 


sembled one of the haughtiest of the Romans, who 
thinks of dismissing her thrall, but not in mercy. 

“I will tell you something, Julia," said he calmly, 
"you paint to earn money. But for whom? For 
whom?" 

"For whom if not for myself, provided you were 
right?" 

"I am afraid you — " 

"Oh please, do not fear anything!" said she with 
sparkling eyes. "Moreover, I must now give the 
washerwoman her afternoon’s luncheon." 

"Very well! I will go too; pardon me for having 
annoyed you." 

There probably was something in his tone which 
touched her. 

"Do not be angry, Fritz," she besought suddenly, 
extending her right hand while she averted her face. 

He took it compassionately in both of his. "Poor, 
little Miss Good-for-nothing!" It was the same gen- 
tle tone in which he had years before said to the 
child: "Do not cry. Good-for-nothing, eat!" She put 
her disengaged hand to her eyes, to hide her deep 
blush. 

"Julia!" said he softly, drawing her to him. And 
the pretty, dark head lay upon his breast. "Child, 
you have not had an easy life all these years. But 
I am here now, and you must tell me everything, do 
you hear, everything that troubles you. I do not 
want you to be sad in the most beautiful time of your 
life. You have now as you had before I went to Got- 
tingen, one to whom you can tell all." 

She made no reply but she allowed him to stroke 
her hair. He too became silent and let her head rest 
upon his breast. It was so quiet up thete, only the 


62 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


wood-worm ticked in the old beams and Fritz Roett 
geFs heart throbbed so wildly, he thought its pulsa- 
tions must be audible. Then sloWly he raised the 
girl’s face and gazed into her lovely half-closed, ar- 
dent eyes. For the second time that day he kissed 
her lips, but more passionately than before and the 
caress was longer, nor did she this time rebel. Her 
arms were entwined about his neck and a sound like 
a stifled cry of joy vibrated through the low room. 

The next moment she was alone; she knelt be- 
fore the old arm-chair, as if it were an altar, her 
hands clasped, her beautiful, proud face rapturously 
upturned. “Oh God,” said she fervently, “I thank 
thee, there is no longer darkness in the world forme.” 

He stood below, looking somewhat depressed. “Non- 
sense!" he muttered, “old idiot, that I am! But, the 
deuce! I can surely kiss my so-called cousin? Hm — 
however, I wish it had not happened. Well, she will 
not attach any importance to it, it is to be hoped— 
Lord, that is only lacking!" 

“Fritz!" called his mother’s shrill voice, “I am ready 
— we will go to Krautner’s. " 

He sighed and took his hat from the nail. “Poor, 
little Good-for-nothing" he murmured once more. 

Toward evening Aunt Riekchen returned home from 
the doctor’s. She crept along ; the anxiety, which 
oppressed her, affected her step likewise. The air 
seemed to be filled with gold dust, the old gabled 
roofs of the town, the springs and the trees in the 
garden were flooded with the purple light of the set- 
ting sun. She saw not, she thought of nothing but 
of how she could obtain money. Suddenly, directly 
in front of her, from the arched dOor-way of a tiny 
house emerged a girl’s form which walked so hastily. 


NO MORE DARKNESS IN THE WORLD 


63 


What an elastic step and what a supple, slender fig- 
ure, notwithstanding the poorly-made gown? What 
ailed Julia? Her feet almost danced and everyone 
turned to look after her or to stare under her round 
straw hat. 

“Julchen!” cried the old lady; the girl turned and 
Fraulein Riekchen saw a youthful face upon which 
beamed a great, inward happiness. The sorrowful 
woman did not understand it, she saw only the be- 
witching beauty and that vexed her in recalling as it 
did past days. 

“Walk sensibly!" she censured. The girl suited 
her pace to her aunt^s. “Where were you, Julia?" 

“At the dressmaker^ s, whither you bade me go, 
aunt. Only think, she says it will make a very pretty 
frock if I have a few red bows." 

Her aunt made no reply. “Come to my bedroom to- 
night, I have some accounts to make up! " she said 
finally and then they walked on together. 

At the courtyard door those from “below” and those 
from “above" met. “Well,” Frau Roettger asked her 
sister, “did you get the money? I’ll wager, the doctor 
has given it to you again — eh? You are lucky, Riek- 
chen. " 

Aunt and niece sat up far into the May night and 
reckoned. The figures danced in front of the young 
girl’s eyes; she made many mistakes and Aunt Riek- 
chen grew momentarily more impatient and paler. 

“Three thousand marks interest to pay and only 
four thousand five hundred income," she murmured; 
“one thousand of this Frieder receives — ” Suddealy 
she extinguished the lamp and leaned back in her chair. 

For a while all was in darknss, then the moonlight 
entered through the window, and from without came 


64 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


the tones of the nightingale, from the small room the 
sound of a voice singing, “Julia!” shrilly broke the 
peaceful silence. 

“Aunt?" 

“It is difficult for me to tell you, but — I cannot 
keep you — you must go — you must help yourself. 
There is barely sufficient for me.” 

No reply. 

“Julia, do you not hear? Come hither!" 

She came and the old lady gazed into a set face. 

“Did you understand me, child? “ 

“No!” It was like a whisper. 

“Then I will speak plainer. Frieder has used more 
than I could give him. Everything is so different now 
in the world — I knew nathing of the position of an 
officer and I did not know what it involved when he 
was ordered to Berlin a year and a half ago. This 
much I do know, that I have scarcely enough to feed 
myself and that I cannot let you starve with me. You 
know something about housekeeping, and if 3^ou are 
not thorough, you will learn; at first you must be sat- 
isfied with small wages. I will put an advertisement 
for a place in the paper, there will probably be some- 
thing at Johanni. I then must try to get along." 
Still no sound. “Well, Julia?” Suddenly the girl 
was before her on her knees. 

“Let me starve with you. Aunt!” came half-audibly 
from her lips. “Oh, I beseech you! I pray you do 
not send me away, not now! I will work day and 
night, I can earn money here too— you do not believe 
it? Oh, yes, I have done so, I wanted to — Oh, aunt, 
aunt, let me stay here, I can not go away” 

“You make the burden hard for me,” murmured the 
lady. 


NO MORE DARKNESS IN THE WORLD 


65 


"Aunt, we could rent rooms up here — I will work 
like a servant, I shall not care to go to balls and 
places of amusement, I will sit quietly in the garden, 
ah, only let me stay" As the old lady did not stir, 
she continued to struggle for her pinched, loveless 
home, in which during all the years of her young life 
she had learned to know only neglect and harshness; 
continued to implore, because it seemed worse to her 
than death to be separated from him who had been 
to her the sun of her life since that evening on which 
reviled and rebuked, hungry and alone she sat in her 
tiny room and he comforted her. "Aunt, dear Aunt. ’ 
The fine, glowing eyes looked up with bewitching, 
imploring experssion at the lady who held the fate of 
her life in her hand. 

"We will see— rise” 

This was all thart was given her as comfort, but it 
meant a great deal to the girl. She rose. "Thank 
you. Aunt, you shall never regret it!" 

Then she disappeared like the moonbeam which a 
short while before played upon the floor. 

The solitary woman at the window looked at the 
dark cloud which obscured the moon, and again her 
heart turned from the child in recalling her mother. 
Had she been able to implore thus? What a lack of 
womanly pride. If any one had bidden her, Riekchen 
Trautmann "Go" — she would not have uttered one 
word. But how could nobility of thought be expected 
in the daughter of the woman who had offered herself 
to her husband. 

Julia flew down the garden path. What she wanted 
to do, she did not know herself; her quivering nerves 
sought quieting. She stole through the gate down to 
the stream, and there she stood, her hands upon her 


66 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


throbbing heart. Before her eyes passed the dark 
years of her childhood, in which his kindness had been 
the one bright star. Now this star had become a sun, 
a beaming, golden sun, the night had been converted 
into day, into what blissful day. 

“Good evening, Julchen” cried a clear voice behind 
her. 

She started and turned around. 

“Why do you stand here looking in the water like 
one who longs to commit suicide?” 

“Good evening, Thereschen,” replied the girl with 
a slight sigh, and stepping to the wall of the neigh- 
boring garden, she extended her hand toward the 
slight feminine form which leaned, slight and dainty 
as an elf in the moonlight, out of the vine-entwined 
frame. 

“How are you, little one?” asked Therese, “I con- 
gratulate you on your birthday. I would have gladly 
come over, but I saw you washing early, and in the 
afternoon your aunt with the doctor called, and you 
know how papa is — always happy if he can find an ap- 
preciative person, whom he can drag into the cellar. 
They stayed to supper and have just gone home. The 
delicate face, surrounded by golden hair, smiled 
roguishly down upon the young neighbor. 

“Listen, Julchen, I believe your doctor is singing 
— -father’s Rauentheler is the cause of that.” 

Indeed the doctor’s deep voice rang through the 
garden: 

“Nur am Rhein will ich leben, 

Nur am Rhein geborensein, 

Wo die Berge tragen Reben, 

Und die Reben goldnen Wein! 

The girls listened as quiet as mice. The singer on 
the other side of the wall advanced, now he went out 


NO MORE DARKNESS IN THE WORLD r 67 

of the garden, descended the steps to the river, loos- 
ened the boat and rowed out into the broad silvery 
stripe which trembled on the water, as he had done 
many and many a time when a boy. 

"Good night!" said Julia softly to her friend, slip- 
ping into the garden. The latter, however, heeded 
her not ; she waved her handkerchief toward the 
stream and cried: "Sing on, sing on, doctor! But be 
careful of the water-sprites!” 

And when Julia turned around, it seemed to her as 
if Thereschen herself were a nixy, with her gleaming, 
golden hair, and her white, vaporous gown; but no 
reply came from the boat and the girl smiled bliss- 
fully to herself. 

Were all the fair-haired sprites of the stream to 
come she would not fear them, she believed and loved. 


CHAPTER VI. 


DREAMS. 

On the night of Fritz Roettger’s arrival two letters 
were written in the old house to Frieder. 

Aunt Riekchen’s ran thus; 

"My darling boy: — Enclosed you will find the sum 
required. I am sorry you have such expense ; the 
soldier^ s coat is a costly thing, especially in Berlin. 
But the time there will soon pass, and at your bar- 
racks you can again live simpler, can you not, Frieder? 
I have had a slight dispute with Aunt Minna regarding 
this money; she maintains that you spend more than 
is necessary. She knows nothing of the demands made 
on an officer; we never have had a soldier in the family. 
I trust you and believe that for your old aunts’ sake 
you will not be extravagant. You know how the value 
of money has decreased and you know too that I have 
to take care of your sister as well. 

"I am pleased that you are coming at Whitsuntide, 
it will be to me the sunshine of the day. Fritz is 
here; he says he saw you rarely or never in Berlin. I 
pray you, be friendly with him, you are no longer 
children. God bless you, my heart’s darling! 

"Ever your aunt who loves you as a mother 

"Friederike Trautmann. ” 

And Julia wr.ote too : 

"Dear Frieder! — I send you eight dollars which I 
have saved. Please, please, do not write to aunt so 

68 


BkEAMS 


69 


soon again for money; she has, I think, serious 
troubles. I am very sorry to see by your letter to me 
to-day that you cannot make both ends meet. Had 
you become, as aunt wished, an engineer or a com- 
missioner, rather than an officer — but now it can’t be 
helped. Aunt looks miserable. Do not tell her I sent 
you money, I earned it in secret! I wanted so badly 
to pay for painting lessons with it, but it is employed 
for a good purpose. I thank you for your congratu- 
lations and am as ever, 

‘‘Your devoted sister, 

“Julia.” 

These two letters were handed to his master still in 
bed by a servant one Sunday morning at about ten 
o’clock, together with a bill of exchange. The hand- 
some young lieutenant’s fretful face became a shade 
brighter whC'U he heard the jingling of the gold pieces 
which the postman was counting out upon a table, 
bearing the remains of an excellent supper, in the ad- 
joining room, an elegant but small salon. 

“God be praised! To be sure, it is little enough!’ 
he murmured. The letters he did not read just then, 
they did not interest him. Moreover, he hated so- 
called family letters. 

His old aunt^s affection was distasteful to him, and 
his sister — great heavens, what a voluminous letter! 
What could she want? He always thought of his sis- 
ter with mingled feelings of compassion and fear. 
Compassion, because she had spent so joyless a youth 
and fear, because if she did not chance upon a hus- 
band, she might some fine day become a burden to 
him. Why indeed was the girl ever born? From the 
very first her life had been of no importance! 

He remembered quite distinctly the day on which 


70 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


the child was born, and that just at this time the cir- 
cumstances of the family were more straitened than 
usual. Now, now the “old lady" at home was grow- 
ing deucedly close, for the reason that this sister had 
to be cared for! Well, at Whitsuntide he must go to 
Andersheim, it could not be helped, he could not defer 
the visit forever. Moreover, the thought was not so 
very terrible to him, for a Whitsuntide on the Rhine 
has its charms, and the women surely could not re- 
quire him to sit all day with them in the garden. The 
steamboat-landing was only a few hundred paces from 
the house, and when one was standing on the deck, 
then adieu, ennui! 

Meditating thus, he ate his breakfast; then he wrote 
to a comrade to say that he hoped to be present at 
the merry little supper after the theater that evening; 
commissioned his man to obtain a certain sort of choc- 
olate bonbons, the favorite sweet of a lady of his ac- 
quaintance, also a bouquet of pink roses mixed with 
May-bells, the favorite flowers of another lady, donned 
a suit which had just come from the tailor’s, and re- 
paired to a fashionable restaurant to dine. 

Aunt Riekchen, however, on Whitsuntide, with tears 
of joy clasped her “beloved boy" in her arms, and at- 
tributed his heavy eyes and his pale complexion to the 
many duties incumbent upon his position, and to the 
unhealthy Berlin air. She had prepared his favorite 
dishes and fetched the last bottles of Markobrunner 
from the cellar, Julia had set the table in the garden, 
placing upon it a bunch of peonies. 

She was so happy! Her brother gazed at her in sur- 
prise when she came toward him with slightly flushed 
cheeks and those peculiar eyes which peeped from be- 
neath their lashes so brightly and so velvety-brown. 


DREAMS 


71 


He never knew that she had such pearly teeth, but he 
had never seen her smile in former days, now she 
smiled, as blissful mortals do in remembering some- 
thing sweet, beautiful, wonderful. 

“Welcome, Frieder!” The words sounded so fresh; 
he could not realize that this girl was the little, timid, 
much-rebuked Miss Good-for-nothing whom he had 
slyly pushed and cuffed and to whom he had scarcely 
vouchsafed a kind word all her life. 

At any rate she bore him no ill-will for it, she was 
anxious for his comfort like a true sister — she was so 
happy and happy people could be nothing but good. 
With how little was she contented! How petty were 
her joys to be sure! No one knows how self-sufficient 
a thing is a maiden’s love. When she rose early in 
the morning, to tidy the rooms, how delightful it was 
to listen over the balusters to hear if he were crossing 
the hall to the garden, on his way to the RhinA It 
was so delightful to meet him in the garden several 
hours later and to receive from him a pleasant, grave 
salution. Not once were their hands extended, where- 
fore? Julia understood him; he was still a poor doctor 
without practice, how could he woo her? He had said 
to his mother, as the two sat in the arbor, and she, 
Julia, passed by to see to the vegetable beds: 

“You must know, mother, that first of all I must 
gain a foothold in my profession. For the present do 
not annoy me with anything else; everything, even 
marriage, will come in its time. " 

And aunt too! In all her life the austere woman 
had never been so gracious to Miss Good-for-nothing 
as she was that spring. In the evening she called be- 
neath her window for Julchen to come into the arbor, 
and how at such times the girl flew down the stairs 




Miss GOOt)-FOR-isWttmG 


with her workbasket! Once even Frani Roettger took 
from the ”imposed-upon child” the pile of stockings 
to be darned, that the doctor, Therese and Julia might 
row over to the meadows. How charming was the 
ride! The doctor sang — for Therese did not cease 
begging him to do so — all sorts of sad and gay melo- 
dies, and finally a song which ran: 

Wo ein Roslein steht, 

Wo ein Vorhang weht, 

Wo am Ufer Schiffe liegen, 

Wo zwei Augen braun 
Uebe rn Strom hinschau’n, 

O, da mocht ich fliegen.fliegen!" 

Was there not a rose-bush in front of her window, 
and did not the light drapery float merrily in the 
breeze, and were not her eyes brown? She meditated 
and allowed the waves to glide through her fingers, 
unconscious of the sparkling, blue eyes gazi»ng smiling- 
ly and fixedly at the singer. 

Thereschen Krautner was a pretty and very stylish 
young lady. Her father’s wealth was evident in every 
fold of her attire. She was plump yet dainty, half a 
head shorter than Julia, had small, charmingly dressed 
feet, and pink, dimpled hands encased in gloves with 
innumerable buttons. Her costume was made by one 
of the “first” tailors at Frankfurt; she had a boudoir 
with silken-hung walls and the most delicate furniture, 
a parrot and a pet dog and reigned supreme in her 
papa’s fine country-seat. In short, Therese was a 
spoiled child, whose one trial was that papa could not 
cast aside the manner of the former journeyman-mason, 
who forty years before had entered a Thuringen vil- 
lage, bare-footed and with a knapsack on his dusty 
smock-frock, and there in time became master, then 


t)REAMS 


73 


contractor, with such luck that gold was fairly show- 
ered upon him. “The saying ‘Gold lies in the streets^ 
was true in my case,” he was in the habit of saying, 
“I did not think when I entered the town that it would 
in later years become a fashionable bathing-resort. 
T here is no house nor cottage there that I did not build. ” 

In his old home he built himself a magnificent villa, 
and in the evening he sat at the “Traube” at the brown 
table in the same spot, where, as apprentice his ear,s 
had been boxed by his master, for this coffee-room was 
added at that time. And in the spot where he had 
once yelled with pain, his voice now resounded as 
town councilor and honorary citizen. Herr Krautner 
was very well satisfied with himself, and well he might 
be, for besides being stout and jolly, he was always 
glad to do good and since his wife^s death he spoiled 
his only daughter , beyond measure. He was in the 
habit of saying, his "Reschen” could marry whom she 
would, and were it the poorest of men — but never 
should she marry an officer! I would sooner hang the 
girl,” he always concluded. 

The young girl had provisionally no variety of choice, 
for there were no soldiers in Andersheim except the 
old counselor of the court of aids, who had upon his 
visiting-card “Lieutenant” and who on the Emperor’s 
birthday appeared in an antediluvian uniform and a 
helmet as high and pointed as a steeple. Thereschen 
on the other hand, while in no danger from the mili- 
tary man was courted by assessors, teachers, merchants, 
but for the present was exceedingly reserved and said, 
there was no hurry about marrying, she wanted to en- 
joy her youth. 

“There you are right! ” agreed her father with a re- 
sounding laugh. 


74 


MISS GOOD-FOa-NOTHING 


So the evening before Whitsuntide arrived and Julia 
set the table under the nut-tree. In her happiness 
she had succeeded in coaxing both aunts, so that the 
occupants of the house sat together at one table for 
the first time in many years. The young men avoided 
each other as much as possible — this family reunion 
did not bid fair to be very comfortable. The elegant 
officer in the light gray spring suit, with faultlessly 
kept hair and beard and incredibly long nails on his 
delicate, white fingers, contrasted strongly with the 
broad-shouldered young doctor, who wore a neat, light 
house jacket and an old straw hat which Frau Roett- 
ger had put away from a former vacation, pushed 
back on his head on account of the heat. Fritz was 
a merry, typical Rhinelander, although this gladsome 
manner of taking and enjoying life, lay only like a 
veil over the seriousness which formed the nucleus of 
his character. The two mens’ mutual aversion was 
unchanged. 

The conversation turned upon politics. Frau Roettger 
liked to hear herself talk on the subject and from 
year to year predicted an inevitable, great war. "This 
year it will come, and then, mark my words, it will 
be terrible!" 

Frieder smiled contemptuously and twirled his 
mustache at a remark of the doctor’s, and before they 
were aware of it, a very animated conversation was 
taking place between the two young people. The 
doctor finally ceased, and asked once more for some of 
the excellent shad with the bones of which he was 
kept so busy apparently that he was unable to speak. 
Thereupon Frau Minna took up the discontinued de- 
bate, and the lieutenant, who was nervously toying with 
the food upon his plate, continued the skirmish only 


T>REAMS 


75 


more sharply, for he was aggravated by the cool non- 
chalance of the doctor, to whom his old schoolmate’s 
opinion seemed a matter of indifference. 

".I believe, madame,” he snarled— since he had be- 
come an officer, he called Frau Roettger thus, from 
preference — "I believe, madame, you are venturing 
upon a province which you can not altogether grasp — ” 

"Ah, is that so!” cried the irritated woman. "Can 
children talk upon subjects in which I cannot join? 
Your newly-fledged wisdom does not impress me by 
far, my son, and the fable of the egg that wants to 
be cleverer than the hen, does not hold good here — do 
you understand?” 

“Mother!” exclaimed the son soothingly, as she was 
about to say more. But she desisted and her face, 
crimson with anger, smiled sweetly; up the path came 
Councilor Krautner and behind him his daughter, to 
pay a neighborly visit. In a trice the agitation was 
quelled by the old gentleman’s genial laughter and the 
pretty girl’s clear, bell like “Good evening!” The 
table was cleared and dessert brought in. Frau Roettger 
took the keys from her belt and sent her son into the 
wine-celler in order that her neighbor might taste the 
Extra forte, of which she had spoken — “You know, sir” 
— it had been her late husband’s favorite wine. 

Julia, a light in her hand, was just coming down 
the stairs of the house as Fritz again ascended from 
the cellar. Her feet hesitated a moment; she turned 
to look at him, but he only bowed carelessly and opened 
the door of the kitchen. By the red light of the can- 
dle she thought he looked vexed. Was he provoked 
with Frieder? It was an insufferable thought to her. 
She waited until he came back again from the kitchen 
with the bottles. 


76 


MISS GOOD-iFOi^-NOTHING 


"Fritz," she asked with hesitation, "are you angry 
with Frieder?” 

He looked up absently and his hand lightly touched 
h’Cr shoulder. "No, my dear child!" Then he varn- 
ished through the garden door. 

Pensive and disappointed she followed him. If he 
had but had a moment to spare for her; he had been 
kind, but — so — so — careless, so absent. She advanced 
to the table and placd the candles upon it; her chair 
was occupied by Thereschen. She glanced toward the 
other end of the table where the young doctor had 
been seated — the councilor was in his place. Fritz 
sat beside Thereschen, while Frieder was on her other 
side. No one thought of fetching her a chair, she 
had to wait upon herself. But when she reached the 
lawn where the chairs stood, she seated herself and 
looked steadily, with wistful eyes, at the group be- 
neath the chestnut-tree. "Will he not miss you?" she 
asked herself, and her burning eyes hung upon him 
who puffed forth in tiny clouds the smoke of a cigar, 
without participating in the very animated conversa- 
tion his neighbor and the lieutenant were carrying on. 

He must feel how she was looking at him, said she 
to herself; but her eyes did not seem to have the mys- 
terious power. The old gentleman’s loud laughter 
reached her at regular intervals. Then Aunt Riekchen 
rose and went slowly toward the house. The seat be- 
side him was vacant, but Julia did not stir; she felt 
so weary she could have wept. Then her heart throbbed 
wildly — he rose and walked along under the vine arbor 
to where she was sitting. She waited breathlessly. 
"Only one word, one kind word!" murmured her lips; 
but just before reaching her he turned, without having 
seen her, and walked toward the Rhine. At the wall 


DREAMS 


77 


he parsed and looked at the dark river; a towing- 
steamer, whose following of laden vessls could be 
counted by the number of bright lamps, was working 
againsf the current. The doctor did not return to the 
table; only when Frau Roettger’s voice called out: 
"Fritz, Fritz, the folks want to go home!" did he 
turn and just near by Julia’s chair he and Thereschen 
Krautner met. 

"Where have you been?” cried the young girl. 

"Did you miss me?” he asked softly, bending over 
her. 

She was silent as if in confusion. 

"Good-night, Fraulein Therese,” he said simply, and 
their hands touched for an instant ; when the lieuten- 
ant advanced, Fritz raised his hat formally and again 
turned silently into the dark walk. 

And Julia did her duty; she collected the plates and 
the glasses and folded the tablecloth. She heard Frau 
Minna, who was returning from seeing her guest’s off 
call angrily to her son. 

"If you were not so old, I should really scold you! 
What have you to run away from? It is true that the 
soMiers excel you students in such things! ” 

"In what tbrings?” 

"Well, deceive yourself and another,” said she 
softly. "But you need have, no fear, such a — ” 

Julia turned away, so she did not hear the flattering 
epithet applied by Frau Roettger to her brother. 

And little Miss Good-for-nothing fell asleep, not- 
withstanding that her heart was heavy with a fearful 
dread. She employed her old means of comfort — she 
pressed her dark head into the pillow and once more 
with closed eyes lived through the blissful moments 
in her attic chamber. Ah, surely Fritz had only wan- 


78 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


dered into the garden, because she was no longer at 
the table — surely— -she was quite positive! And with 
this conviction she slept the deep, dreamy sleep of a 
young person who is fatigued from work. 


CHAPTER VII. 


AN idyl: then dissolution. 

The lieutenant did not think at all of making the 
Whitsuntide excursion of which he had spoken, and 
Miss Good-for-nothing, who, of course with her aunt’s 
permission intended to prepare a simple meal in the 
first holiday, was obliged to give up her church-going 
and to stand at the kitchen-fire, for according to Aunt 
Rieckhen’s opinion, a royal Prussian lieutenant upon 
a Whitsun furlough could not possibly be put off with 
an omelette. 

Julia yielded without a sigh, all people could not 
celebrate. Fritz had gone away to make professional 
calls, he had several patients! How eagerly the young 
girl listened for the new bell in the hall, which bell 
had been especially put in for the the young doctor, 
and which was an obnoxious messenger with a shrill, 
horrible tone. To-day too, he had gone away early 
and Julia had learned that "Uncle Doctor" had taken 
him to a consultation into the country in his carriage. 

Toward noon her brother donned his uniform and 
with clinking saber descended the stairs and crossed 
the hall in ord^^r to pay a visit at Krautner’s. To be 
sure he came back soon, for Papa Krautner was al- 
ready lunching, although the clock had just struck 
twelve; the housemaid having informed him that her 
master could not be disturbed at his meal. The lieu- 
tenant was on the point of forsaking Julia’s roasted veal 

79 


8o 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


and of taking tiie next best ship to Rudesheim that he 
might more easily escape from the monotony there. 
Then another idea occurred to him. He entered the 
small, neat kitchen in which his sister was working, 
and asked what she intended to do all day. 

"I shall sit in the garden with my books, was the 
reply. 

"With your books?" 

"Yes, I like to read." 

"That is terribly tiresome! Is there not one young 
girl for you to associate with?" 

"Yes, Thereschen comes occasionally; it may be 
that she will visit me to-day. She does not like the 
Whitsuntide confusion, and Sunday she is almost al- 
ways here." 

"She is right, I do not like to make myself conspic- 
uous either," he agreed. "How would it be, Julchen, 
were we to fly entirely into solitude and were I to row 
you over to the island?" 

"That would be kind of you! " said his sister, "there 
is surely no one over there!" 

"Toward evening we will prepare punch and you can 
see to the food," he proposed. 

She nodded. "Do not forget to invite Fritz, Frie- 
der,” she implored, turning away her head, for she 
felt she was blushing. 

He did not seem to hear it and hastened to leave 
the kitchen which was full of steam; arrived in his 
rooms, he flung himself upon the sofa and wove a 
golden web for the future. 

In the afternoon he rowed the two young girls to 
the island. The air was filled with the perfume of 
elders, the ships carried gay pennons and the stream 
was swarming with boats containing gayly-dressed 


AN idyl: then dissolution 8l 

people. On the island it was so much lonesomer, 
tliere was no tavern there. 

The young officer chained the boat to an overhang- 
ing tree, and the three trod the grass-overgrown path 
which led to the western point of the isHand, where, 
as the lieutenant maintained, was the best ^lace for 
Fraulein Therese^s hammock as well as the finest view. 
Julia followed, her grave, pale face wore a trace of 
disappointment — Fritz had not gone, be had indeed 
not returned home. She heeded neither the unusual 
loquacity of her brother, who stripped a wild apple-tree 
of its blossoms for .a bohquet for Fraulein Therese, 
nor did she understand what he said to her. 

The spot, which he had selected, was indeed won- 
derfully beautiful, and when Thereschen was swinging 
in her low hammock and her white dress floated around 
her like a cloud, when the lieutenant had settled him- 
self upon a rug at her side, Julia took her book and 
grew so deeply interested in it, that she speedily saw 
nothing more of the outer world. The chattering and 
the laughter of the couple, the soft rippling of the 
water, which fell upon her ear, accorded so perfectly, 
with the story of the beautiful fair lad}^ in her citadel 
Schwarz Wasserstelz in the midst of the Rhine and 
with her secret love for the minstrel Hadlaub in Gott- 
frield Keller’s charming novel, that she did not notice 
how the time flew and that the conversation of the two 
young people grew lower and lower, that pauses 
arose, long pauses, interrupted only by a song in the 
distance or a sigh near by and the splashing of the 
water on the shore. 

And the sunbeam's scattered sparks through the 
boughs of the old elms, bright, golden sparks, for 
night was approaching. Then the light of dying day 


82 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


tinged the grand, proud river with purple, and sud- 
denly too, this purplish shade glowed upon the cheeks 
of the fair girl who had raised herself in the hammock, 
her head half-turned from the man at her feet, while 
her hand rested in his and he kissed it again and again. 

“But so soon — I do not know what I shall reply — “ 
said she hesitatingly; nevertheless there trembled 
about the pretty mouth a smile of happy pride. 

“When one feels as strongly as I do, there is no 
hesitation. I like hasty resolution and know too, im- 
mediately what 1 want, what I must do. I know that 
I love you, Therese, I knew it the first second that 
our eyes met.” 

Terrified, she snatched her hand from his, Julia had 
risen and passed them on her way to the shore. “There 
he comes!” said she, as if to herself, looking at the 
skiff which shot across the gleaming water. 

The couple behind her looked at each other; Therese 
laid her slender finger on her lips, once more Frieder 
tootk her hand and feeling a slight pressure of the same, 
he too, sprang up. 

“Good evening!” was the indifferent greeting received 
by the young doctor, “you have come in time to mix 
the punch. Julia, unpack the lunch basket!” 

“At last!” cried the doctor gayly. “When an hour 
ago I was about to start — mother told me you were 
here — an unfortunate fellow came with a bleeding, cut 
head, and I had to mend it. How do you do, Frau- 
lein Therese!” And he seated himself by the girl and 
threw his hat upon the nearest budding bush. “Is this 
not an ideal evening?” he added. 

Then he looked up at Therese, who, in the rosy 
light appeared as fresh as the apple-blossoms she wore 
in her belt. 


AN IDYL: THEN DISSOLUTION 


83 


“You have hair like the Lorelei herself," said he 
with frank admiration, “you only lack the golden comb. 
Julia, are you brewing the punch? That is right; I 
am too tired and have had no holiday like you." 

Those of the small party were all very gay, as gay 
as young people on the Rhine can be, who have gold- 
en wine in their glasses and secret love in their hearts. 
Therese’s silvery laughter every moment was wafted 
with the warm wind over the stream, and the doctor 
seconded it. The lieutenant only laughed occasionally, 
then he sighed, drank to the fair Lorelei and quoted 
verses : 

“An den Rhein, An den Rhein, zieh nicht an den 
Rhein, mein Sohn, ich rathe Dir gut!” and sighed 
again; Julia alone was silent. She crouched upon the 
trunk of a tree and gazed at the fading light in the 
sky; her hands were clasped about her knees, her 
lovely profile stood out sharply from the clear back- 
ground. But although she did not participate in the 
loud merriment of the others, she was probably the 
happiest of all, for her faith was as constant as her 
love. 

At dawn on Whit-Monday morning Friedrich Adami 
came from the garden. Julia could not believe her 
eyes. And soon after he was whistling so merrily in 
his room that a shade of surprise flitted over her face. 
Again he gave up his Rhine tour, again he donned his 
uniform and crossed the court with the same clatter as 
he had the day before. Frau Roettger, who was just 
coming out of church, stopped in the street and 
watched him until he disappeared behind the wrought 
iron bars of the Krautner abode. 

The brave woman suddenly felt anxious. Great 
God, if he — but no, he could not take the fortress 


84 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


over there by storjtn! He would be capable of it, he 
had always possessed a certain boldness — but Theres- 
chen surely would not? Still, the girls of the period! 
He was a handsome fellow, but in her opinion not to 
be compared with Fritz. “Heavenly Father, now I am 
curious!” With these words the lady seated herself 
at her window and awaited the officer’s return. She 
was obliged to wait a long time, and when at length 
he came, she could make nothing out of his manner. 
If possible he made more noise with his sabre, and 
his usually pale face was flushed — whether from hap- 
piness or disappointment she could not tell. 

It was not long before his commanding voice was 
heard above “Julia! Julia!" 

The young girl who had been with her testy aunt, to 
prove the sad fact that the monthly allowance was not 
sufficient for the present opulent housekeeping, and 
who accepted patiently many an angry retort, rushed 
in affright to her brother’s room. “Here I am, Frieder 
— for God’s sake, what is it?" 

He had opened his uniform and w^as pacing the floor. 

"Can you keep a secret?" he asked finally. 

‘T do not understand you. If you have something 
to confide in me, of course I will not speak of it.” 

“You must help me!” he continued. “Do you hear?" 

“Always, if it be in my power, Frieder." 

“Here is the whole confounded story," he went on, 
speaking lower. “Therese and I — 

“Thereschen and — you?" 

“Yes, Therese and I this morning plighted our troth. 
Do not open your eyes so wide — you do not believe it, 
how silly you look. Is it something unheard of, that 
a young lieutenant and a pretty girl should become en- 
gaged?" 


AN IDYL: THEN DISSOLUTION 85 

“Oh, God!” stammered the girl, “How pleased I 
am!” 

“Yes, it was something, I can tell you! When I, 
a little while ago, went to the old Philistine and asked 
his consent, he thanked me for the honor and — and — 
well, to be concise — a rejection, but not a fine one! 
Like this!” And he described a circle in the air, sig- 
nifying the circumference of the rejection. 

“And Thereschen?” asked she. 

“I did not see her at all. I assured the old — ” he 
employed a disrespectful epithet, applied to an animal 
with long ears — “that Therese would not give me up; 
he then, with a good-natured smile and his hands, 
with the seal ring on the index-finger of the right one, 
on his stomach, assured me I need not worry, she had 
learned to ‘obey orders’ and would listen to reason. 
A terrible man, and his German! It is enough to dis- 
gust a man in my position!” 

“Poor Therese! Does she love you?” 

“What a question! Does she? I now want to send 
her a comforting message, do you understand? You 
must go over; the old man sleeps after lunch. Tell 
her I must speak with her once more, that I will be 
true to her forever, and that her father must be soft- 
ened, she is his pet, his only child.” 

As if exhausted, the young officer seated himself in 
a corner of the sofa, all the torture of disappointment 
was expressed on his pale face. Suddenly he struck 
his fist heavily upon the table. “And all would have 
been well, all!” he muttered. 

“1 will tell Therese; I am sorry for you,” said Julia 
sympathetically. “I think too, if you hold firmly to- 
gether, her father will finally yield, for he loves Res- 
chen very dearly — ” 


86 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


This was an unlucky day. At the table Aunt Riek- 
chen, without regarding Julia’s presence, for she gen- 
erally excluded her from all conversations held with 
her brother, in a husky voice abruptly informed her 
foster-son that she was unfortunately no longer in a 
position to give him as much allowance as she had 
hitherto. She uttered the word with downcast eyes, 
as if she were ashamed to acknowledge her straitened 
circumstances. 

He laughed loudly and harshly, and drained his 
wine-glass at one draught. “A good appetite!” cried 
he then, flinging his napkin upon the table and slam- 
ming the door behind him. 

"Aunt!" said Miss Good-for-nothing, laying her hand 
softly and timidly upon the old lady’s transparent, 
trembling right hand, ‘'Aunt, do not be sad, we will 
arrange so that all will come right — we will sell the 
house, will we not? Then you will be quite rich, and 
we can rent a small, - neat apartment looking on the 
Rhine, and I will make it so cozy, that you will never 
miss this big old house which is only a trouble to 
you. ” 

But her hands were suddenly thrust aside. "How 
can you know what one’s old homestead means? You 
have not a spark of affection in you, or you would not 
talk as if the sale of a house was the same thing as 
spreading bread and butter.” 

Julia looked at her sorrowfully. “Ah, if you had 
any idea how I love this old house — ” she longed to 
say. But she was silent, both were silent. 

When the young girl left the room with the plates, 
Fraulein Riekchen put both hands to her eyes, and the 
tears trickled through her fingers. She would have 
liked to have followed the child, to ask pardon for her 


An idyl: then dissolution 


87 


severity, but she could not bring herself to do so. 
Julia soon after stole through the garden gate in to the 
Krautner estate. Unseen she reached the house and 
passed through the drawing-room which was almost 
too sumptuously furnished with East Indian rugs, 
bamboo furniture, and Japanese fans, to her friend’s 
boudoir. The shades at the wide windows were low- 
ered; the light was subdued and the air was filled with 
the perfume of Eau de Cologne and some other frag- 
rant scent which the young girl kept on her toilette- 
table. 

The light-blue pink-flowered furniture with its twisted 
gilt frames was in confusion; at the hearth lay the 
remnants of a porcelain statuette and upon the couch 
waving a broken fan, in a charming but crumpled 
white dress, with tearless, defiant eyes, lay the hard- 
hearted father’s victim, Therese Krautner. When she 
became aware of her friend’s presence, for Julia ap- 
proached her couch solemnly and gravely, she turned 
her head to the other side and began to weep. 

“Poor Reschen!” And the girl’s pale face bent over 
the despairing one, “Ah, that must be hard! But 
take heart, Frieder sends his love and he will remain 
true to 5'ou. He has sent me to bid you not to lose 
courage. True love can conquer all things, there 
have been hard-hearted fathers before this, Reschen.” 

“Ah — ah— ah!” resounded behind her, “hard hearted, 
do you say, little fraulein?” And Councilor Krautner, 
who had entered unperceived, stood behind the ter- 
rified girl, his hands crossed upon his aldermanic 
stomach, his red, full-moon face distorted into a good- 
natured grin. “I am certainly no hard-hearted, unnat- 
ural father,” he continued, stroking Julia’s cheeks 
with the back of his hand, “I am simply - an exper- 


88 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


ienced man who will not allow his blinded child to leap 
into misfortune at one bound. Yes, yes, into misfor- 
tune, dear heart! But you do not understand it be- 
cause you are all just at the most foolish period of 
your lives.” 

"Dear Herr Krautner — " Julia raised both hands — 
"but if they love each other so dearly, so dearly — ” 

“Ah — they think so themselves,” he laughed, "but 
he will not die of it, and she will not, I know them 
better. And now, Reschen, I require that this whim- 
pering cease — do you understand?" 

The young girl sat up. "You must know, papa,” 
cried she with angry eyes, "I will never give him up 
— never, never!” 

"Well, we will see about that,” was the reply 

"If you think I shall in time forget him — ” 

"I do think so, little girl!" 

"Then you are mistaken, and here, in Julia’s pres- 
ence, I tell you, that if a year from to-day you have 
not consented to this engagement, then — ” 

"I will take another!” he completed. 

"We shall see,” said she. 

"Yes, we shall see, you are right. Now you can wish 
for anything your heart desires, but not a soldier; I 
am not joking, I swore it once — why? it will not in- 
terest you. No, soldiers in general and this one not 
in particular! No offense, little miss,” he turned to 
Julia, "but see — a strange man comes and asks me for 
no less than all, and that is a great deal, do you un- 
derstand? It might suit some, oh yes, but if this one 
here is a silly girl who allows herself to be dazzled 
in a quarter of an hour — I am not so absurd. A clear 
head! is my maxim. Alois Krautner has always a clear 
head, or he would not have got on so far. Your most 
obedient servant!” 


AN idyl: then dissolution 89 

"You never have loved," said his little daughter 
with contemptuous, quivering lips. 

"I? Indeed! Have I not? But within the bounds 
of reason, you saucy girl! And I toiled and moiled, 
before I approached her father and said: ‘Give me 
your Hannah and your blessing, I can maintain a 
household, support a wife and more besides.’ There’s 
the rub, do you see? That is all, so basta and no 
offence!" 

He turned, closed the door, and he could be heard 
from without whistling. It was the old Dessauer 
March, which he always whistled when very much 
agitated. Even when his dear, adored Hannchen 
died, he paced the floor and whistled these strains 
with the tears rolling down his cheeks. 

"Now you see how sad my life is," said the pretty 
maid bitterly, pushing her tangled hair from her 
flushed cheeks. "Comprehension, refined feelings are 
not to be found. And do you know, Julia, when I 
tried to move him, when I told him we had already 
planned our future life so delightfully, we would settle 
in the neighborhood, upon the wedding tour, he would 
show me his magnificent home, his Rome, then he 
laughed as if I had uttered the best joke, and asked 
if that was all possible in two days’ acquaintance! 
He w’anted to know if we had already bought a Baed- 
ekser? That years ago he and mamma had put up at 
a hotel in Rome, where they would have been very 
comfortable had they had a stove and a great deal of 
insect powder. Oh, God, how can any one desecrate 
the lost sacred of things thus! You, Julchen, must 
help us!" she exclaimed, springing up. "If father re- 
mains obstinate, we will elope — yes, we will! Tell — 
Lieutenant Adami — I — " She suddenly paused, it 


90 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


seemed rather forward in her to make the lieutenant 
such a proposition. “At least," she continued, in a 
low voice, pulling at her handkerchief, “at any rate 
you will carry my letters, will help us to see each 
other, dear Julchen!" 

Julia did not reply; she stared fixedly before her, a 
dark frown lay between her finely arched brows. 

“Do you hear?" cried Therese impatiently, “you 
must help us! I must see him to-night! You have your 
attic room, your studio, no one will seek us there, and 
you must tell your aunt, it is — " 

“No!" came curtly and severely from Julia’s lips. 

“You will not help your own brother? Nor me, your 
only friend?" cried Therese, who was arranging the 
hair upon her forehead at the mirror, and was bathing 
her eyes in cold water. 

"No, Therese, just because he is my brother. I will 
not help to make it appear as if he wanted you from 
pure self-interest, and — I think, you will help your- 
selves alone. Real love always attains its goal." 

“What a silly thing you are!" burst forth the fair 
maiden angrily. “How can I help myself alone? Do 
you not yet know my father? No letter enters the 
house except in a locked mailbag, and he will watch 
my every movement from now on, and — " 

“With secrecy and letter-writing ^ behind his back 
you can surely help yourselves. I did not mean that," 
answered Julia. “Show your father that your love is 
strong and true, he will then surely be prevailed up- 
on ; and in the end, if Frieder loves you honestly and 
deeply, he will for your sake become something else 
but an officer, he is still young — if it is only for this 
reason: that your father does not want you to marry 
an officer. I will speak to my brother about that!" 


AN IDYL: THEN DISSOLUTION 


91 


“You are very kind!” was the irritable and disap- 
pointed answer. "But I think, he is just created for 
an officer, and for my sake he need not change his con- 
dition. ” 

"Condition has no weight in the matter surely, if 
you love each other so dearly!” exclaimed Julia in- 
dignantly. "Do you love the uniform or the man?” 

Therese made no reply. 

"If he could become, for example, an agriculturist,” 
persisted Julia. 

"If you please,” cried Therese angrily, "save your 
advice which savors so little of worldly experiences. 
Go rather to him and tell him I desire to speak with 
him once more, no human being can prevent that. 
Or no, do not — you pull as long a face as if I wanted 
to induce you to steal. You are of no use even for 
that! Heavenly Father, I now only require one thing 
more of you, do not pay any atteniton to the whole 
affair, give me your hand upon it, I will help myself 
alone. Say 'Truly!^ three times that you will betray 
me to no one. ” 

Julia extended her hand, but she did not speak. 
Therese no longer heeded her friend’s serious face. 
She sat at the table and scribbled a few lines hastily 
upon a pale lilac sheet of paper with a gilt monogram. 
"Farewell!” murmured Julia, going sorrowfully 
through the garden to her own home. 

Her brother was standing under the nut-trees; he 
still looked paler and more nervous than usual. 
"Well?” he asked impatiently. "You stayed an eter- 
ity. I have been upon the rack. What did she say?” 

"She will be true to you, Frieder — but — ” 

"But?” 

"But her father will never consent.” 


92 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


He drew a deep breath. ‘"If she only consents — ” 
said he softly. He did not even thank his sister; he 
ascended hastily to his room and wrote to Moses 
Aronsohn in Berlin, that he must have patience a 
little longer; he had a good match in prospect, only 
the father’s objection had to be overcome. But if 
Herr Aronsohn were to present his case before the 
regiment, the marriage would be doubtful and he would 
then get nothing, for his aunt had lost her fortune. 
Respectfully, and so forth. He posted the letter him- 
self and returned with a lighter heart than he had had 
for months. When near the house a pretty servant 
passed him slowly and thrust into his hand a small, 
pale lilac envelope. His eyes lighted up and scarcely 
had he reached his room than he broke the seal. 
Therese begged him to come to the old summer house 
on their property, “at nine o’clock, when papa is at 
the ‘Traube. 

At about eleven o’clock Julia was startled from the 
sleep into which she had fallen by a rattling at her 
window. She was familiar with her brother’s habit 
of former days, of throwing gravel at the windows 
when he found the house locked. She dressed quickly 
and rushed down the stairs, in order to open the door, 
in which the key was always sticking on the inside — 
Frau Roettger wished it so, because then the locks 
would be of no use to the thieves. Frieder crossed 
the threshold. 

“Indeed you retire with the chickens,” he jested, 
and advanced to the steps, humming a gay melody. 
“Good-night,” he whispered up above in the dark 
hall, seizing his sister’s sleeve. “Therese is a sweet 
treasure, I tell you, and, girl when the marriage 
takes place, I will give you a fine dress, do you under- 


AN idyl:, then dissolution 


93 


stand? And now be good and kind to my little be- 
trothed and do not rest yourself over us as a moral 
judge. When you once have loved, you will find, 
that one is not easily scared off by such an old Philis- 
tine, and that secrecy has its charms. But I do not 
believe such an icicle could ever form any idea of 
'love.' Good-night and — silence! Do you under- 
stand? Or else the matter will fall through!” 

'‘Good-night!” said she, and in her evening prayer 
she had something to ask of the dear Lord; that he 
might help to bring these two together, that he would 
give them the strength to overcome all obstacles, and 
that he would lead the father to yie4d. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE NIGHT OF THE BALL. 

Frau Roettger’s face had never been so pleasant 
and placid as during this disagreeable autumn; while 
she usually anticipated winter with a sigh, she now 
rejoiced over every faded leaf which the storm tore 
from the trees. For to these constant rains and storms 
she partly owed the sunshine in her soul. 

The oldest inhabitants of the town could scarcely 
recall so unhealthy a fall, grippe and rheumatism 
held full sway and children’s diseases were epidemic; 
the young doctor’s bell was rung constantly all day 
and with an important air Frau Minna jotfed upon 
the slate on her son’s door the names of those in search 
of aid. As if she had the greatest piece of good news 
to announce she met her Fritz with a beaming face 
when he came home wet and tired, to tell him that 
he must hurry for the manufacturer Lindemann 
probably had a stroke of apoplexy, the gymnasium 
teacher’s children were all and every one happy with 
every symptom of scarlet fever, and old shoemaker 
Martes aged mother was moaning with an attack of 
the heart. 

“It can not go on this way,” said the young doctor 
one day, when in consequence of Doctor Kortum^s ill- 
ness demands upon him increased. “It can not go on 
thus, I cannot manage to attend to Uncle Kortum’s 
entire practice together with my own, if I have to 

94 


THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 


95 


pay a visit for every swollen face, for every slight 
cough. I will arrange hours of consultation, those 
who are not seriously indisposed must come to me. ” 

“That is wise,” agreed his mother. “Ah, Fritz, 
you did not yourself think you would so rapidly be- 
come the favorite physician here!” 

“It is the charm of newness,” replied he, evasively, 
and he went into his room to compose a notice for 
the paper which should inform the inhabitants of 
Andersheim, that Doctor Roettger’s office hours were 
from eight to nine in the morning and from three to 
four in the afternoon, Sunday and Wednesday from 
nine to ten o’clock gratis for the poor. 

Frau Minna now sat every morning and every after- 
noon behind the curtains at the window of her sit- 
ting-room and counted those who “weary and heavy 
laden,” came to her Fritz. And truly, a fine lot of 
customers crossed the old court and entered the open 
door to seek advice, customers from the very best fami- 
lies; mothers with their young daughters and the 
young rich wives of manufacturers with their children 
for Fritz had the reputation of being an excellent 
childrens’ doctor; even the handsome, mysterious 
widow, said to come from Russia and always enveloped 
in her black crepe veil, came one day, and almost 
startled Frau Roettger by the beauty of her face 
which was as pale as marble. "God forbid,” said she 
to herself, “that he should fall in love with a person 
like that, who has nothing and is nothing!” 

She would have liked to have seated herself in the 
waiting-room and to have chatted with all the sick, 
but that she dared not do, even when her best friend, 
the major’s wife, appeared with her cook who had a sore 
finger. One day her son anticipated her heart’s desire. 


96 


MISS GOOD-FOR-«IOTHING 


"Mother," said he, "occasionally during the hours 
of consultation can you not make some pretext to en- 
ter the waiting-room; in the first place the people 
will be less free to frighten one another with the most 
startling stories of illnesses, and in the second the 
dear children will not venture to meddle with my mi- 
croscope and other apparatus." 

The next morning Frau Roettger took her best cap 
out of the box, put on her "best black woolen dress," 
tied the strings of her silk apron, and with a face 
flushed with pride, presided in her son’s ante-room. 
Unfortunately she grasped the duty with her celebrated 
candor and energy. The bailiff’s young wife, who in 
reply to Frau Roettger 's persistent inquiries answered 
with hesitation that she coughed a great deal, received 
the comforting assurance that both of her elder sis- 
ters had begun to cough at her age and died soon 
afterward of consumption. *And if I had been your 
mother, young lady," concluded the worthy dame, "I 
should never have allowed you to marry, but would 
have packed your trunk and have gone South with you. " 

Tears filled the poor little creature’s eyes. She loved 
life, she loved her husband and her plump baby so 
dearly, and when she was seated before the young 
doctor, her delicate frame was shaken by convulsive 
sobs, and with difficulty Fritz drew from her the con- 
solation his mother had offered her. And scarcely had 
he succeeded in quieting the fears of the sick woman, 
than a terrible scream was heard in the anteroom, 
whereupon he rushed out in affright. 

His mother had the five year-old son of a railroad 
official upon her lap, while the child with a face pale 
and distorted with fear was trying to slip down, as 
he did so yelling lustily. 


THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 


97 


“Heavenly Father, what is the matter, mother?” 
he asked. 

“The silly boy showed me his forefinger, and in 
jest I said, you would cut open his little stomach with 
a long knife, because it came from eating too many 
pears,” said she crossly. 

The doctor shook his head and with difficulty soothed 
the little fellow. But Frau Minna at the shake of 
his head assumed an injured air, said something again 
about a “silly boy” and disappeared, there was noth- 
ing there that day to interest her. Toward evening 
she had forgotten her unfortunate debut; she bustled 
about her son’s room, where she laid out for him an 
especially fine, embroidered and plaited shirt, beside 
the coat which she had brushed with her own hand; 
she wanted to make a show of him on this evening for 
the first Casino ball was to take place. The old lady 
herself wore with her morning dress, her company 
cap, which was fixed upon her gray hair with large 
gold pins. 

“It is to be hoped no' one will send for you,” said 
she; “of course it looks well to be called hastily from 
the table, but I should be sorry to have you wear your 
varnished boots in such rainy weather.” 

He did not seem in the happiest of moods, and re- 
plied absently, as he wearily flung himself upon the 
sofa. His mother, however, profited by the time left 
her before she had to begin her toilet, and as she 
poured out her Fritz’s cup of coffee, she once more 
tried to justify her conduct of the morning. 

“I always thought that little woman a goose,” said- 
she boldly, “but I did not think her so extra dumb; 
such a fuss to make, as if it were the greatest piece 
of news to her, that her sisters died of consumption,” 


98 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“But one does not remind sick people of such 
things! ” 

“Is that so!" cried she, pausing, her arms akimbo, 
before the doctor. “You surely do not wish to make 
her believe that she still has a hundred years to live? ” 

“But, mother, it is important that one should neither 
frighten nor excite patients with such stories! " 

“Well, I differ from you there — I think they should 
be frightened in order that they take care of them- 
selves! You may depend upon it, she will not tease 
her husband to go to balls with her, and — ” 

“You would make an excellent doctor, mother," 
cried he with forced gayety. “Now it is time for you 
to make yourself fine. Then, please go on ahead — it 
may be that I will come into the ball-room fifteen 
minutes later; I have a letter still to write." 

Frau Roettger disappeared, and he remained seated 
awhile. Then he ascended the stairs and knocked at 
Aunt Riekchen’s door. “Is Miss Good-for-nothing 
here?" he asked, peering into the darkness. 

“No!" was the reply. 

“Where is she?" 

‘God knows," sighed Aunt Riekchen, “I have not 
seen her since dusk. She is so odd; perhaps she is 
grieving because she cannot go to the ball, but I have 
not the money, I cannot spend a halfpenny for such 
things. " 

And Fraulein Riekchen was right this time. Dur- 
ing dinner Julia’s face turned a shade paler, when 
Frau Roettger’ s maid came to ask Fraulein Julchen in 
her mistress’ name, if she would rearrange the lace 
upon the said lady’s black'silk party dress, to which 
message the girl added: “It would generally be a mat- 
ter of indiffernece to madame, but because she is go- 


THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 


99 


ing with our doctor to-day she wants to be especially 
fine.” 

Miss Good-for-nothing did conscientiously what she 
was asked to do, at the same time being forced to 
listen to a description of an Andersheim Casino ball 
painted in the most glowing colors. It never occurred 
to the loquacious lady that her words would make a 
young heart heavy. She could not imagine Miss 
Good-for-nothing at a ball; but two sparkling tears 
rose to the eyes of the girl who so busily fastened 
the old lace on the rustling silk. Ah, it was not on 
account of all the brilliance there, it was only because 
he was going without her. A tormenting sensation 
stole over her suddenly, she did not realize it, she 
only felt its pain and did not know that it was called 
— jealousy. 

With trembling hands she finished her sewing, laid 
the dress hastily over a chair and left the room. In 
the hall she paused. Whither should she go with her 
sorrow? She opened the door which led into the 
garden, and stepped under the small projection. The 
rain was falling, the wind bent the boughs and through 
the gray twilight glimmered a few bright windows. 
Yes there, in the elegant villa at Krautner’s, sat one 
too, who was not happy, who would be lonely like- 
wise this evening, while all others were enjoying 
themselves — lonely and with the same yearning in her 
heart as she had. And she felt impelled suddenly to 
go through the rain and storm to the friend whom she 
had avoided more and more, since she had been her 
brother’s betrothed. She wanted to look in a pair of 
eyes that did not look gay either, she wanted once 
more to press Therese’s hand. 

She put her woolen shawl over her head and hurried 


100 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


along the wet garden paths; now she stood upon the 
floor of the lighted hall at Therese’s door and knocked. 

“Come in! ’’ rang out merrily. 

Miss Good-for-nothing turned the knob, and then 
stood upon the threshold with the expression of a 
child really and truly gazing upon fairyland. The 
cozy little nest was brightly illuminated, the gas-light 
gleamed amid the silken folds of the wall draperies 
and sparkled like hundreds of glittering stars upon the 
fragrant, light-blue gown interwoven with silver threads 
worn by the beautiful girl who was turning round and 
round in front of the large mirror. 

‘Come in!" cried Therese. “The room will get 
cold. It was kind of you to come, Julchen, you can 
help me to put this thing in my hair." She held to- 
ward the girl a small brilliant star which gleamed 
with every shade of the rainbow. “Is it not pretty, 
Julchen? Just think, papa gave it to me to-day." 
She tried herself to see where the ornament would 
show to the best advantage, and skilfully fastened it 
over her brow which was surrounded by waves of 
curly, golden hair. 

'Do I suit you?" she asked then, pouring an abund- 
ance of Eau de Cologne upon her hands. 

Miss Good-for-nothing paused at the small fireplace 
and involuntarily drew her wet, dark gown around her. 
“Indeed you do!" she replied, “but — ’’ 

“Well — but?" asked Thereschen, drawing on her 
long gloves, while she sent out the maid to fetch papa. 

“But I thought — you — would not go to the ball, 
Therese? " 

“You were mistaken. Why should I not go? One 
lives but once, and things cannot be changed by griev- 
ing.” 


THE NIGHT OF THE BALL lOI ' 

"Certainly not; I only fancied it would afford you 
no pleasure.” 

Therese was spared replying, for Herr Alois Kraut- 
ner appeared in his gayest mood and greeted his beau- 
tiful daughter with a "Bravo, bravo, Reschen!” 

"See, papa, how finely the star sparkles up there!” 
cried she, turning her face toward him. 

"Yes, yes! In return there is less sparkle in my 
purse,” he laughed, and patting Julia on the shoulder, 
he added: “Alois Krautner should be locked up on 
account of his extravagance, but what can one do? 
She wants everything that is the fashion — everything 
that is the fashion — but . . she does not get every- 

thing; to-day you were lucky, but it is not always so, 
is it, little mousie?” 

"To be sure, you bring about your will, ” she nodded 
with a pout, and when the old gentleman turned 
around, she made a naughty gesture behind him and 
laughed like a brownie. 

"That is what I am master in the house for!” cried 
he in high glee. "But do you know what I wish?” — 
and he paused almost reverently before his pretty 
daughter, "that your mother could see you this even- 
ing.” Then he drew forth his gigantic red silk hand- 
kerchief, blew his nose so that it resounded in the 
girls’ ears like a trumpet blast, put the handkerchief 
again hastily in his pocket and went toward the door, 
whistling his favorite air: "So leben soir — ” 

"He is deeply moved,” said Therese and turning 
before the mirror: "Does the waist fit well?” 

"I think so — good-night, Therese, much enjoyment! ” 

"Wait, the carriage has not come yet.” 

"I must go home; good-night!” 

At this moment the maid entered with something 


102 


MISS GOOD-FOK-NOTHING 


hidden under her apron. Julia heard her say softly: 
“To-day there were two at the postoffice, Fraulein 
Therese, and saw the girl’s dainty gloved right hand 
hastily take two yellow letters and throw them in a 
box of Japanese lacquer work, which stood upon a 
small table of bamboo and silk plush. Julia knew 
these letters, they were from Frieder; he always wrote 
upon this expensive, perfumed fancy paper. Therese 
had her back turned to her, nor did she turn when her 
friend left the room; but Julia saw in the glass a dis- 
figuring expression of annoyance upon her lovely face. 


CHAPTER IX. 


GOD COMMANDS. 

Julia did not return home from Therese Krautner’s 
comforted] she was inclined to be angry with her 
friend and took herself to task for it. But her mood 
did not change. As softly as a thief she crept up to 
the spot which was her own^ to the tiny room beneath 
the roof. It was quite dark here, but she found the 
old arm-chair and crouched shivering in it. The rain 
continued to fall; she could plainly hear it drip upon 
the tiles above her, but the roof was good and firm, 
and not a drop came through. Here she was hidden, 
here undisturbed she could yield to the morbid, defiant 
thoughts which laid hold so sharply upon her soul, to 
such a degree in fact that she was terrified at the con- 
tempt for mankind and the consuming bitterness which 
possessed her and which could not be driven out by 
any sweet memory, by any hope of later happiness. 
For months this hope had helped her to brighten the 
desolate present, on this day her heart could not be- 
lieve in any happiness at all. She sat there with 
clenched fists, buried in her misery, and suddenly a 
sob escaped her breast.. 

Then a voice said: “For God’s sake. Good-for- 
nothing, what is the matter that you are sitting here? 
You will take your death of cold. “ 

“I am never cold!” said she defiantly. 

“Good-for-nothing, I believe a great deal you say, 
but not that,” replied the doctor good-humoredly. 

103 


104 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“Do you know, I spent fifteen minutes with Aunt 
Riekchen awaiting you? I wanted to see you before I 
went away — but you did not come. At length this so- 
called studio . occurred to me. Heavens, where are 
you? Give me your hand and lead me down, the tem- 
perature is strange up here." 

He groped for her hand and drew her arm through 
his. “Come,” said he, “lead me, I do not know my 
way here in the dark." 

What do you want with me?" she asked, and her 
voice had a hard, icy ring. 

“My God, I have just come — 1 will tell you on the 
way; I have not much time, child, I am going — I 
must go to — ” 

“Ah yes, to the ball! Pardon, I forgot," and she 
withdrew her hand. 

“I am to break my neck because you let me loose?" 

“Oh, no!" And under her fingers a match was 
struck and the end of a candle in a small lantern. 

“Now you can see.” 

Lighting him thus she passed out of the attic-cham- 
ber to the stairs. "You were about to tell me some- 
thing in a hurry," said she, without turning around. 

“Hur — yes — to make it short, I wanted to ask you 
— of you — if it would be distasteful to you, were I to 
ask you to sacrifice to me a few hours of your da}^, to 
help me a little at my work — in short: if during my 
hours of consultation you would do the honors in my 
waiting-room. It may happen sometimes that I shall 
not be there, that the sufferers may grow impatient, 
that the ladies may excite one another by stories of 
terrible attacks, and so forth. At such times I need 
a pleasant face, a person with tact, a compassionate 
heart — and you have all that. Good-for-nothing, and 
therefore I wanted to ask you. " 


GOD COMMANDS 


10.5 


They were standing on the landing of the old nar- , 
row attic-stair, the lantern lighted but dimly the space 
near by, but it sufficed to show the man the joyful 
gleam in two dark eyes. 

“Oh, how gladly!” said she, and upon her smiling 
face not a trace of sadness was to be seen. 

“Good little Good-for-nothing," he murmured, 
touched by her readiness, “do not picture it so de- 
lightful!” 

“You cannot irhagine how pleased I am Fritz, but — 
aunt! I have to cook.” 

“It is all arranged, Julia; aunt will keep a servant 
again.” 

“That cannot be,” exclaimed the young girl anx- 
iously, “certainly not, Fritz! Ah, you do not know 
how — ” 

“I know all; please, ask no more, child! Well, will 
you help me?” 

“Certainly! ” 

“Then come to me to-morrow morning, but a little 
before consulting hours, that I may tell you a few things. 
Now, until we meet again. Good-for-nothing! Sleep 
well ! ” 

“Until we meet again!” she repeated almost inau - 
dibly and she watched him as he hurriedly went down 
the stairs. He had not given her his hand once, she 
did not nbtice it; she was too happy that she could 
help him. What cared she for the ball, for Therese? 
She could work with him, for him, that was something 
different from dancing with him! 

Like a bird she flew down the stairs and into the 
room to Aunt Riekchen. “Oh, how kind you are aunt,” 
said she affectionately, approaching the old lady who 
sat at the table by the lamp knitting a stocking, and 


io6 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


looking more sorrowful th^in she had looked in the 
morning. 

Fraulein Riekchen shrugged her shoulders. "One 
must accept aid," said she bitterly. 

"Ah no, aunt; I mean for allowing me to help Fritz' 
downstairs. ” 

"Well yes, I mean that too; or do you think he 
wants you to do it for nothing? He has told me ex- 
actly what he will pay you a month." 

The girl suddenly turned pale to her lips. "He in- 
tends to pay me for that?" she asked unsteadily. 

"Certainly, and very generously too." 

"But I will not have it!" cried Julia indignantly. 

"Why not, if I may ask? Have you anything to 
give away? What difference does it make if it is the 
doctor who has become the style and engage you to 
receive his patients, if it is Fritz or some one else, 
it must be a matter of indifference to you!” 

The color came and went upon Julia’s face. "Then 
do you take what I earn," said she, at length in a 
hard voice, "and never tell me when he gives it to 
you, nor how much — I do not wish to hear it!” She 
turned away and left the room. She — she his paid 
servant! He would not have dared to offer her that, 
if he really loved her! 

In mute anguish she wrung her hands; and so she 
sat half of the night beside her bed in the chilly room 
and sought to force her proud young heart to com- 
posure. At intervals she fancied she heard the tones 
of a violin and saw gowns with silver threads inter- 
woven and gleaming, fair hair in which a star sparkled. 
"She must have everything that is the style," Herr 
Alois had cried. Now Doctor Fritz Roettger was the 
style— had not aunt said so? 


GOD COMMANDS 


107 


“Good little Good-for-nothing!’’ rang in her ears in 
waltz time; his bright, clear eyes looked out of the 
throng of dancing couples, whom she saw before her, 
over at her — “Do you not know. Good-for-nothing, 
that I mean well by you?’’ 

“Yes,” said she half-aloud, “I know it, I know it! 
Up to this time you are the only person who has been 
kind to me, and therefore my soul, my life depends 
upon you. Do not wound me, for God’s sake, do not 
wound me, it would be my death! I can not imagine 
anything else but that you love me! Great God, fill 
his heart with love for me — he must love me, other- 
wise I do not wish to live!’’ 

The last words sounded like a stifled cry. But 
there was no one there to hear it, and the anguish and 
passion died away unheard and unsoothed. 

At this hour upon the doctor’s black coat in the bril- 
liantly lighted ball-room of the “Traube” an incred- 
ible number of cotillion favors were collected. Yes, 
he was very much the style! Finally alight, fair fairy 
floated toward him and with a smiling face brought 
him the last favor, he put his arm around her and flew 
over the floor with her. Herr Alois Krautner struck 
his knee with his hand and laughed; he was seated 
beside Frau Roettger, who watched the couple with 
proud satisfaction. “A fine couple, neighbor, a fine 
couple!’’ cried Herr Krautner, “they are developed 
like the Thuringen firs!” Then he examined his own 
odd, corpulent form and his neighbor’s angular one 
and nudged her with his elbow. “Where have they 
got them from? Not from either of us, madam, to 
be sure! There, the music has ceased; hook on, 
madam, I should like to have the honor of drinking 
coffee with you for my neighbor.” And for her Fritz’s 


io8 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


sake Frau Roettger smiled at this“old clown’s”uncom- 
plimentary candor, and laid her hand with dignity 
upon his arm. But in the “quality” room of the 
“Traube, ” in which the young men criticised the 
company a little, a young referendary, who was some- 
what lively, held his beer glass toward the doctor and 
sang: “Roettger, Roettger, whom all the maidens 
love!” And the whole chorus joined in. The doctor 
escaped them with a laugh and arrived at home, he 
put all the glories of the cotillion in the waste paper 
basket; only one single star lay upon his writing-desk 
beside the note paper the next morning. 

Upon this star fell the eyes of Miss Good-for-noth- 
ing, who, with head proudly erect stood beside the 
doctor and received his instructions with regard to 
her new position. 

“And now forward,” he concluded gayly, for a mo- 
ment taking her right hand in both of his, “now comes 
our work, little comrade!” 


CHAPTER X. 


THE MATERNAL EYE. 

“Truly, Good-for-nothing, you seem to be especially 
fitted for your office, ’ said the young doctor to Julia 
a few weeks later, as she succeeded in quieting a 
screaming boy so that unresisting and bravely he al- 
lowed a long sliver, which he had got by falling upon 
some rough boards, to be taken out of his finger. 
“I hear your praise in all sorts of tones, from old and 
young, and if I have anything to find fault with, it is 
only that you, who can make others so happy, cannot 
succeed in doing the same for yourself. 

“Shall I talk to myself?” she replied with a gentle 
smile. 

“No, that is a bad habit, which is acquired only by 
solitary and embittered persons,” he answered. 

“Nevertheless, I find myself doing so occasionally," 
said she as if to herself, and the peculiar smile again 
hovered about her mouth. 

“There we have it. Good-for-nothing ! You shut 
yourself up too much; you should mingle with young 
people more!” 

She raised her long lashes and cast such a melan- 
choly glance at him that he was moved by it. 

“Good-for-nothing,” said he more impressively than 
before, “why do you not go to Therese’s any more? 
You were formerly a great deal together.” 

“What shall I talk to her about? V/e have nothing 
109 


no 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


at all in common, and, what we did have — ” she 
checked herself. 

“Then come down here occasionally, mother and I 
are often alone. ” 

“I do not know if I dare.” 

“I pray you, child, do not be absurd!” he replied 
angrily. 

“It is perhaps absurd, Fritz; but since I know that 
you pay me for my assistance, I feel as if a barrier 
were between us, so high!” She raised her arm and 
stood on tiptoe. He looked at her in surprise; she 
stood before him pale and with quivering lips. 

“Julia!” said he with emotion, seizing both of her hands 
“How can I explain it to you? Come, look at me — do 
you think I wanted to wound you? Do you not know 
me better than that? The only thing I desired was to 
help aunt in some way. You know how she is! Her 
pride is inflexible, notwithstanding her deplorable 
position, and I respect this pride ; I do not think I 
should be any different myself. But that has no in- 
fluence upon you, Julia, and — that I cannot pay you 
for your aid, even if I wanted to, you know. Who in 
the world could stand by my side, as you are now do- 
ing? Would either mother or Aunt Riekchen? Truly, 
little Good-for-nothing, you imagine silly things! If 
it is any comfort to you, you may know that your so- 
called salary is but a pious lie, that you simply aid 
me in deceiving the poor, anxious woman up- stairs for 
her good. I should help her in some way, whether 
you assisted me or not.” 

“Is it true? Tell me — is it true?” she asked slowly. 

“What, child?” 

“What you just said, that I really help you, that 
no other can?" 


THE MATERNAL EYE 


III 


"Yes, Good-for-nothing! Have I ever told you a 
falsehood?" 

He took the hands which were withdrawn to be put 
for a moment in front of her glowing face. "Then all 
is well, then — " 

The rest he could not understand. 

"Oh you silly, strange child," said he. "Is not that 
like mother? Now you are reasonable, eh? Good- 
bye, Good for-nothing, do not fret anymore!" 

"No," she replied, "I will not think about it any 
more, I will believe all.” She walked to the door^ 
there she again turned her lovely head and her dark 
eyes sparkled. 

"I could laugh at myself now,” said she, "had I 
only asked you at once, Fritz!” 

He opened his eyes wide. There was something 
like reproach in the eyes of the strange creature who 
looked at him, which recalled to his memory one spring 
afternoon up in the attic chamber, where he had kissed 
that beautifully arched mouth, so long and ardently. 
He still stared at the door after she had disappeared 
some time. "No, it is ridiculous! She loves me as 
a sister — nonsense! I have said nothing to-day sure- 
ly, that—" 

In a few moments he lighted a cigar, began a scien- 
tific account of nervous palpitation of the heart and 
speedily forgot all the girls’ eyes in the universe. 

When Julia reached the hall, Frau Roettger called 
to her: 

"Lord, what have you to talk about? The last pa- 
tient has been gone an eternity and I want you to help 
me unpack my furs, it is snowing. It should have 
been done long ago!” 

Without observing Julia’s glowing cheeks she opened 


II2 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


a small chamber, looking on the garden, in which 
chamber wardrobes and chests stood against the white- 
washed walls. There she unlocked an old oak chest, 
from which came the penetrating odor of camphor 
and naphthaline mingled with pepper. 

“Listen,” she began, kneeling beside Julia in front 
of the chest, “have you noticed nothing?” 

“What?” asked the girl, holding for a moment mo- 
tionless in the air Frau Roettger^s enormous fitchet 
muff. 

“Why!” The old lady winked confidentially. “I 
mean, who will really be Therese’s choice? Does she 
tell you nothing at all?” 

“Nothing at all, aunt,” replied Julia. 

“That is your fault,” said Frau Minna, striking her 
fur-box so violently against the chest that a veritable 
cloud of pepper came from it. “Hazi! How can love 
affairs — hazi! —interest you?” 

“God bless you, aunt!” said Julia, a roguish smile 
flitting over her face. 

“In my time it was different — hazi! Great God, this 
sneezing is terrible! When we girls got together, we 
talked of nothing else. You could too turn the 
conversation upon it, for example, the next time I 
give a large coffee-party — do you understand? For I 
must give one and soon too. Then you girls can name 
the cards and choose your partners, and if she blushes 
at one of them,hentitis — hazi!” 

“God bless you, aunt!” 

“I shall give the coffee, before the Kaurtners go 
away. You probably do not know that the old blockhead 
coughs— -the day before yesterday, they sent for Fritz. 
Thereschen maintains that her father must certainly 
go South, the sooner the better— well, they have the 


THE MATERNAL EYE 


II3 

money. But I should be sorry if the girl were to 
bring home some betrothed whom she had met on her 
travels; at Monte Carlo, there are shoals of men who 
hunt rich heiresses— I remember that from the time 
roulette was played at Wiesbaden and afterward there 
is misery.” 

"No, aunt, she will bring home no betrothed,” said 
Julia in a tone of firm conviction. 

“Eh?” said Frau Roettger, whose fears were calmed. 
“Is she too sensible!” The old lady drew nearer Miss 
GoodTor-nothing and whispered in her tiny pink ear 
with a confidence she had never shown before: “Do 
you know, I believe, Fritz and Thereschen like to be 
together, and — heavens, what is there to laugh at, 
you silly thing?” 

Miss Good-for-nothing had really laughed, so heart- 
ily, clearly and joyfully, that it rang through the room. 
Then she turned crimson. “Oh, aunt, forgive me,” 
she implored. 

The provoked old lady was appeased, though she 
muttered to herself. 

“Aunt, I too, will name the cards!” promised Miss 
Good-for-nothing with a serious expression, although 
inwardly the clear, merry laughter rang through the 
soul. Oh, if the old lady knew, what she knew, that 
Thereschen had long since made her choice and the 
doctor — the doctor — ” 

“Very well — and you must help me too with the 
guests!” 

“Willingly, aunt.” 

“And Riekchen must lend me her coffee-spoons, or 
else, with all those ladies — I shall invite all the young 
girls too — there will have to be a general washing-up 
when we come to the lemon-cream.” 


1 14 ■ MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 

Good-for-nothing turned pale. "Ah, the spoons — 
do you not know?” 

"What should I know? Surely they are not gone?" 

"I do not know — I believe — ” 

Frau Roettger became furious. "Sold or pawned?" 
she cried. 

"Sold, I believe,,” stammered the young girl. 

"Well, that is the last straw!” exclaimed the lady 
rising. "Great God, if our parents knew of it, thy 
could not rest in their graves — and all for you two, 
who intruded here without an atom of right, only be- 
cause the lovelorn woman up there once wanted to 
marry your father! The whole fortune, that by rights 
belonged to Fritz, has been squandered by Lieutenant 
Adami! Had I only done as I wanted to, and had 
that foolish person put in an institute!" 

The young girl leaned against the door-post with 
pale cheeks. In reply to this outburst she uttered no 
response; but instinctively she turned to fly, when the 
excited frau dropped the lid of the chest, so that it 
re-echoed through the house like a cannon-shot, and 
again raised her voice: 

"And you — you good-for-nothing thing— you — " 

Julia was in the hall, she did not herself know how, 
she did not know how she reached the seat on the 
other side of the stairs in the dark corner, where as 
a child she had many a time clenched her tiny fists in 
bitter, powerless rage. To-day her whole form trem- 
bled, and her heart suddenly stood still when the doc- 
tor’ s door was opened and his hurried steps resounded 
upon the flagging. 

"Great heavens, what has happened?” 

Usually Frau Minna was silent when he appeared, 
but the loss of the family silver had converted her in- 


THE MATERNAL EYE 


to a raging lioness. She reported in the loudest tones 
the horrible fact that the heavy silver coffee-spoons, 
the pride of the Trautmann’s, bearing the arms of her 
mother, a born "von,” were lost, and only on account 
of these — these — good-for-nothing — ” 

“Pray, be calm, mother, that is no reason why you 
should excite yourself thus.” The son’s voice had 
such an icy ring that the old lady’s high temperature 
fell almost as quickly as if she had been plunged in- 
to one of the cool baths by which he could lessen the 
feverishness of his patient. 

The mother seated herself upon the chest and be- 
gan to sob. 

“You take everything so lightly,” she moaned, “you 
never think of the future; it is truly no matter of in- 
difference for one some day to have such a burden fall 
upon one. “ 

“What burden?” 

“Wh}^ Riekchen and Julia. I could stand Riekchen, 
she is of course, my sister — but, Julia — " 

“Do not worry, she will never become a burden to 
you. ” 

“Is that so?” Frau Roettger had ceased weeping, 
and this “Is that so?" again sounded war-like. “What 
do you think her future will be?” she inquired. 

“Why should she not some day become a happy 
wife like thousands of other girls?” 

The old lady’s mocking laughter accompanied his 
reply. “I should be curious to learn to know him who 
would be foolish enough to take her! As little as you 
would marry her, will she marry any other, do you not 
think so? Or perhaps you have intentions?” 

The door-bell rang at this moment and cut short the 
doctor’s reply. 


Il6 MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 

Julia sat unseen in her corner; with a throbbing 
heart she leaned her dizzy head against the brown 
wood-work of the stairs. She heard, without fully 
realizing it, that the doctor was summoned to a pa- 
tient, very hurriedly, thereupon hasty steps, his steps 
leaving the house; then all was still. She too arose, 
smiling proudly yet with bowed head, and thus she 
ascended the stairs to Aunt Riekchen’s sitting-room. 

The old lady stood in the center of the room pale 
and trembling. “What unpleasant scene has again 
been enacted below? I could hear Minna’s voice up 
here." 

“Unpleasant?" asked Julia, shaking her head as if in 
surprise. 

Aunt Riekchen breathed a sigh of relief. The girl’s 
pale face looked so contented that certainly nothing of 
moment could have occurred. Julia went to and fro, 
however, and attended to her various duties as if in a 
dream. 


CHAPTER XI. 


LOVE AND COQUETRY. 

The solemn day, on which Frau Roettger was to 
give her coffee party, dawned. Great commotion reigned 
in the house, until toward four o’clock quiet was 
finally restored. Directly after the consulting hours 
the doctor had taken to his heels; there was scarcely 
a chair in both of his rooms. In the iiall were min- 
gled the aroma of the fine coffee and that of the in- 
cense with which on festive occasions Frau Roettger 
was veritably prodigal. The large, old lantern under 
the ceiling, which harbored a modern petroleum lamp, 
was lighted; Luischen and Fraulein Riekchen’s little 
maid were gorgeous in freshly ironed, stiffly starched 
white aprons, and in Frau Roettger’s two rooms lamps 
and candles burned. 

Frau Minna herself went once more critically from 
one room to another, smoothed out the white damask 
cloth, glanced with pride at the silver sugar-bowl and 
cream jug upon the table before the sofa of the best 
room and rejoiced in the possession of the rubber 
plants which she loved so tenderly and the leaves of 
which she had this day polished with a little goose- 
grease. They shone as if varnished; this artifice was 
a secret which she carefully guarded, though she was 
often asked how she managed to have the leaves look 
so fresh. 

Miss Good-for-nothing, who had been again restored 
1/7 


Il8 MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 

to the good-favor of her aunt, appeared in a dainty, 
white apron in order to do the honors, as daughter of 
the house, in the front room, where the young girls 
were to drink their coffee. 

"Remember not to fill the cups too full!” her aunt 
considered it essential to remind her, "and see to it 
that Luischen begins to serve once with the major’s 
wife and the next time with the director’s wife. — Riek- 
chen has of course remained obstinately up-stairs?” 

“Yes, she says she does not know all the people, 
and she does not feel well; she is in a very sorrowful 
mood.” 

"She never lacks reason,” said her aunt. "Her 
darling son is probably alive, if he does not write," 
she murmured angrily. "There’s the bell — are the 
servants at their posts?” 

Miss Good-for-nothing hastened to receive the first 
arrival, but when she reached the hall she found it 
was not a guest who had entered, but the postman, 
who gave into Julia’s keeping a letter for the aunt up- 
stairs. She looked at it with a sigh; it was again 
not from Frieder and the old lady was so anxiously 
awaiting news of him who for weeks had been silent. 

She hid the letter in her pocket, it would come soon 
enough into the grieved woman’s hands. It was a bill, 
sent for the seventh time, from a large linen house in 
Berlin, at which the lieutenant had ordered for him- 
self the finest outfit that ever a young, elegant officer 
possessed. 

What an oppressive atmosphere it was up above, 
in which the young girl was now obliged to breathe 1 
Whatsoever the imagination of a solitary, embittered 
person could devise, did the old lady devise in her 
anxiety about the only person to whom her heart still 


LOVE AND COQUETRY 


II9 


clung in this world. Now she saw the adored foster* 
son ill in a hospital; now, and this was her most hor- 
rible representation, she saw him grown reckless from 
despair, leading a dissolute life and then she raised 
both hands to her face and prayed to God that she 
might not experience that. Twice had she sent him 
registered letters, on the previous morning she had 
telegraphed to him and paid the answer, asking if he 
were ill or well — but Frieder remained silent — as 
silent as the grave. 

And Julia steered her ark of life as well as she 
could, through this dark water, wreathing the poor 
miserable thing with modest roses and turning the 
rudder toward a magnificent, golden landing-place, 
nor did she lose courage, although the goal seemed 
no nearer. She tried continually to comfort the old 
lady and bore reproaches and scoldings with compo- 
sure. She would have preferred to have said: “Do 
not worry about Frieder’s future, for he is betrothed 
in secret to Therese Krautner!” But she was strictly 
forbidden to do so — who knows what misfortune she 
might bring about should she speak. So she could 
say nothing but write to him as well and implore him 
to let them hear from him. 

On the stroke of four — the hour appointed for the 
coffee-party, Thereschen arrived at Frau Roettger’s 
enveloped in a light fur-trimmed mantle, her rosy face 
framed in a white hood. 

Julia welcomed her and conducted her to her aunt^s 
bedroom, where the ladies were to lay aside their 
wraps, and there the charming guest displayed a 
toilette as elegant as usual; a dark green cloth 
trimmed with gold cord. 

It suddenly occurred to Julia to ask Therese for her 


120 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


brother, and she whispered with hesitation: “Tell me, 
Therese, how is Frieder? Have you heard from him?” 

“Why?” was the curt question asked in return. And 
after a pause Therese added, as she arranged her curls . 
“I really do not know.” Then she took her little, 
gold embroidered “Pompadour” and prepared to leave 
the room. 

Julia could not follow her, other ladies arrived, and 
when she entered the room in which there was a noise 
like the humming of a swarm of bees, she saw Therese 
seated upon the sofa well-fortified by a bevy of young 
girls, and she knew that there was no possibility of 
talking with her without witnesses. 

The young Andersheimers were unusually merr}^ 
as they diligently worked at their Christmas gifts, as 
diligently indeed, as if they were obliged to earn their 
daily bread. Therese alone held her crochet-needle 
idly in her hand, and listened attentively to the news 
being circulated from mouth to mouth. Her eyes 
avoided the imploring ones of Miss Good-for-nothing; 
only when Julia passed through the room did she pen- 
sively examine the tall, supple figure in the sirhple 
cashmere gown which since the day of confirmation 
had been the most valuable article in Julia’s ward' 
robe. 

“She is quite pretty,” said Therese’s neighbor, a 
fresh looking blonde with bright brown eyes, “I have 
seen such a face reproduced somewhere, I cannot re- 
member whether it was in Frankfurt or in Berlin. A 
girl, carrying a jug upon her head and with a face as 
proud and yet as gentle as hers. Her eyes are fine! ” 

“I do not know,” replied Therese, “this type of 
beauty, if beauty it is, does not impress me. It is 
not my style.” 


LOVE AND COQUETRY 


I2I 


The Other smiled good-naturedly. “I should like 
to know, ’’ .she jested, “if Doctor Roettger thinks as 
you do, Thereschen; were I he^ 1 should be head over 
ears in love with her.” 

Therese Krautner shrugged her shoulders. “Easily 
possible,’’ she agreed. 

The young lady looked mischievous. She was the 
only one engaged to be married among the girls and 
obtained from her fianc^ all manner of news, and 
she could too, with impunity, sing Doctor Roettger’s 
praises. “How you all courted the poor fellow at the 
Casino ball,” she thus concluded a long speech; “and 
whosoever is the chosen one, is not to be envied, in- 
asmuch as I think, that jealousy will not allow her 
to enjoy her privileges.’’ 

Thersechen looked sorrowfully at the speaker. “I 
did not know,” she began. 

“Oh, you were just as bad, you glady offered him a 
favor! the sparrows do not chirp from the roofs for 
nothing: all the girls love Roettger, Roettger!’’ Julia 
who was just fetching, a buffet for one of the elderly 
ladies and did not hear this quotation, was forced to 
smile, when at the sight of her, all the girls put their 
heads together and whispered. Therese alone sat 
there like a statue. In the meantime the bell rang 
and the doctor’s voice was heard saying: “A lamp, if 
you please.” He had returned early nevertheless. 
Again these words could be distinctly heard : “Ask 
Fraulein Julia to come here a moment.’’ 

Miss Good-for-nothing, who had just placed her 
chair in the charmed circle, arose immediately and ad- 
vanced to the door; it seemed as if something im- 
pelled her to glance at Therese, and when she, the 
knob in her hand, turned her head, she saw a pale face 


122 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


with firmly compressed lips, and with eyes from which 
shot an almost hostile gleam. She returned this 
glance with one of astonishment and left the room. 
What, for heaven’s sake, had so suddenly changed 
Therese? 

As she entered his room, the doctor came hastily 
toward her. “Tell me, Julia, have you heard from 
Frieder?” 

“No! " she replied. 

“Then he is here himself; I may be mistaken, but 
I would wager that he passed me on the Bahnhof- 
strasse. ” 

“Oh, no, Fritz, he is not coming until Christmas, 
and that is not for three weeks.” 

T may, of course, be mistaken, child, but I thought 
I would tell you. And were it so. Good-for-nothing 
— have you any idea what brings him here?” 

She turned crimson and made no reply. 

“Are you in his confidence?" he asked. 

"Yes, Fritz.” 

“Then, child, if you have any influence over him, 
see that the poor woman up stairs is not exposed to 
any more excitement; it would not only be vain, as 
she cannot help him — but her physcial condition will 
not bear it.” 

She bowed her head. “Is it as bad as that?” she 
asked with an effort. 

But before he could reply his mother's voice inter- 
mingled with cries of sympathy was heard in the front 
room, the door was burst open, and upon the thresh- 
old stood Frau Roettger, one arm around Therese 
Kruatner’s form. The young girl looked pale and 
suffering; she had in some unaccountable manner 
stuck the crochet needle in her hand. 


LOVE AND COQUETRY 


123 


The doctor advanced in affright, and led the girl to 
a seat. Frau Roettger whimpered as if she had to 
bear the pain, one old lady, suggested tetanus, a 
third proposed sending for her father, until the doc- 
tor finally requested all to leave the room; Julia had 
already hastened out to obtain a jug of warm water. 

When she returned with it, she paused at the door 
an instant, and a mist rose before her eyes. The 
needle had been taken out, but Therese^s head leaned 
as if unconsciously upon her helper’s shoulder and 
two large tears were trickling down her pallid cheeks. 

On Julia’s entrance Fritz carefully laid the fair head 
back upon the cushion ; nor did he wipe away the 
tears, as he had once kindly done for Miss Good-for- 
nothing; he paced the floor with a pained expression 
upon his face, such as people have who feel doubly 
themselves the pain they are compelled to inflict on 
others. Julia did not know him thus, so sensitive and 
sympathetic, so put out on account of a “trifle,” as 
he would have designated such a thing in another. 

“Did it hurt very much?” she asked sympathet 
ically. 

“Why, of course!” he replied, taking the jug from 
her and mixing the water in it with carbolic acid. 
“Please get some soft linen — you know, outside in 
the cupboard, to the right!” 

She went obediently, and when she returned the 
color was again in Therese’s cheeks, and the tiny 
hand, which Fritz himself held in the water as ten- 
derly as if it were Sevres china, no longer trembled. 
Afterward when it was being bound, Julia held the 
hand; for the first time she was found fault with: 
“Good-for-nothing, please — not so roughly!” 

“What did I do?” she asked, looking up at him. 


124 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“You held the arm so tightly, just see those two red 
spots!" 

“Ah, do not be angry!” she stammered in affright. 

“Julchen," implored Therese, “fetch me my wraps, 
I would like to go home." 

“J will accompany you," said the doctor eagerly. 
And he did not even take his overcoat, he merely put 
on his fur cap. Notwithstanding they stood for some 
time chatting at the door of Therese’s home. Once 
the young girl laughed aloud; her laughter rang out 
so heartily and silvery in the dark garden. She 
must again have felt perfectly well. 

“Good night,” said Therese on parting, “I hope as 
a faithful physician you will to-morrow look after your 
worst patient!" 

“Certainly — good night, Fraulein Therese!" 

She offered him her right hand. “Good night, doc- 
tor!" 

By the faint glimmer of the lamp in an elegant 
wrought iron stand upon the stairs, her sweet, child- 
like face looked so pleasantly up at him, and so win- 
ning, so innocent a smile played about her mouth, 
that he, to whom all exaggerated gallantry was for- 
eign, stooped and kissed her hand respectfully and 
devotedly. Then he turned hastily and descended the 
stairs. 

Therese opened the door and softly crossed the hall, 
to her room. There with her uninjured right hand 
she took off hood and cloak, turned up the gas and 
stepped to the mirror, which in crystalline clear- 
ness gleamed above the mantelpiece — she stood there, 
still smiling at herself, when steps crossed the corri- 
dor and simultaneously with a hurried knock the door 
was burst open. 


LOVE AND COQUETRY 


125 


The young girl thought it was her father and turned 
gayly in order — the next moment a slight exclamation 
of terror trembled through the luxurious little room. 

“Friederick!” 

The man who had entered was enough to frighten 
any one — pale, his fair hair matted on his brow and 
in his eyes, which were deeply sunken in his emac 
iated face, glowed a strange fire. 

‘T saw you come home,” he began, approaching her, 
"and hastened to greet you. You are well, I see, and 
I might have spared myself the anxiety I suffered at 
your silence. But as I have come hither, I should 
like at least to go away as your acknowledged fiance\ 
you cannot blame me, and it will be pleasanter for 
you than this secrecy. I pray you, therefore, go with 
me now to your father, or send for him, for all I care, 
that the affair may be ended!” 

She retreated to the deep window niche, in which 
washer sewing table. Fear, his unqualified, resolute de- 
sire, the disagreeable consciousness of having played 
at fast and loose with him, almost rendered her beside 
herself. “Papa is not at home,” she stammered. 

‘T will await him then.” 

He drew a chair to the fire-place. "Shall we not 
talk?” he asked with the same, unnatural composure. 

"Oh, please go!” she now implored. "Come again 
to-morrow, I am not in the mood for talking.” She 
pointed to her injured hand. 

"Nothing was to be seen of it a few minutes ago,” 
he replied, disregarding her formal manner of address- 
ing him, "I heard your laughter ring through the whole 
garden; and even the draughty place in front of the 
house door seemed all right for you to chat in. In- 
doors, here, it is much more comfortable — so, if you 


126 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


please! What you accord a stranger, 3^ou will surel}? 
not refuse your betrothed?” 

While he spoke she drew nearer. "I am at home 
alone and must once more request you to leave this, 
room!” she said, her voice trembling with agitation. 

‘‘Why so?” he asked. ‘‘We were alone in the sum- 
mer house too, when we plighted our troth!” 

‘‘You are trying to threaten and frighten me!” cried 
she violently, and the tears, up to this time restrained 
gushed from her eyes. 

He advanced and seized her hand. ‘‘You do not 
yourself believe what you say, child,” said he. ‘‘You 
still love me as dearly as you did a few months since, 
when you promised me that in case your father should 
not consent to our engagement, you would go with 
me clandestinely.” 

‘‘No! No!” cried Therese, snatching her hand from 
him, ‘‘I never said that, you are imagining it!” 

‘‘Fortunately I have it in writing! It was in one 
of your first letters, and that passage comforted me in 
the last weeks of despair. Now, tell me, Therese, is 
your father still against our union?” 

‘‘He is as much so as ever. And I — ” 

‘‘You?” 

‘‘I see, that he is right!” After these words she 
seated herself upon the lounge and looked away from 
him with the impatient expression of a woman who at 
any price would like to see an unpleasant conversation 
cut short. 

‘‘Therese, that is not true ! You cannot be in earn- 
est ! Your love must still exist for me, your letters 
could not lie! You are no ordinary girl, you are above 
these Philistine prejudices, you are capable of defying 
the world and of becoming mine without your father’s 


LOVE AND COQUETRY 


127 


consent. Try kindness with him once, and if it fails, 
then let us burn the ships behind us; there is still 
some spot in the world where we — ” 

“You propose,” asked Therese Krautner with icy 
composure, “that I should secretly steal away from my 
father, and plunge into an uncertain, adventurous fu- 
ture?” 

“Your father will, must later on, become reconciled — ” 

“I have no taste for romantic escapades,” she in- 
terrupted. “I think it more beautiful here than any- 
where in the wide world ! In my eyes Andersheim is 
the loveliest town I know of. And now, please go; 
after what has been said it would be doubly annoying 
if the maid were to come and find you here.” 

“No!” said he passionately, “I will not go! You 
owe me an explanation; you have caused me to ex- 
perience all the torture of disappointed expectation, 
of despair — now speak; why so suddenly this change?” 

He drew nearer and laid his hand menacingly upon 
her shoulder. 

Then she sprang up, beside herself. “Papa! Papa!” 
she cried, rushing out to the door. Heavy footsteps 
resounded in the hall, they advanced, and before the 
astonished man could collect himself, Herr Alois 
Krautner stood before him, but his smiling face 
changed on seeing the officer, as abruptly as when 
dark clouds suddenly float above a landscape flooded 
with sunshine. 

“What do you want, sir?” asked the father to whom 
the daughter clung fearfully. “To what do we owe 
this honor?” 

“I have already informed your daughter that I wish 
to speak with you,” replied Adami, having quickly 
recovered his self-possession. 


128 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“He wanted me to elope with him; and I cannot 
do that!” interrupted the girl weeping. 

“No, no, certainly you can not,’’ said Herr Kraut- 
ner, coldly. 

“But now let me loose : trouble will come of such 
doings behind my back. Drink a glass of water and 
then cry it out alone! You, sir, will perhaps, for lack 
of the daughter, go with the father, only at present 
to my room, if you please 1 Here is the door — please, 
please, after you!’’ 

And the round little figure made way for the pale 
young man with a correct bow which at any other 
time would have had a very comical effect; to-day 
neither of the spectators gave a thought to Herr Alois 
Krautner’s serio-comic manner. In the hall the cor- 
pulent host walked on ahead as hastily and nimbly as 
if he had springs under his soles; he opened the door 
of his room. “If you please, have patience a moment, 
I have a few words to say to my daughter alone.” 
With that he turned the old-fashioned oil-lamp a little 
higher and then left the room in order to return to 
Therese’s boudoir. The girl tried to fling herself up- 
on his breast, but he loosened her arms with an ex- 
pression unusual to him. 

“Pray, pray, now is no time for caresses; I only ask 
a few concise answers to the questions I put to you 
— sit down there! Sol Now, number one — did you, 
notwithstanding my orders, engage yourself to Lieu- 
tenant Adami?” 

A long pause, then sobs. 

“Yes or no?” 

“Yes, but I — ” 

“If you please, no excuse! Did you correspond with 
him?” 


LOVE AND COQUETRY 


129 


“Yes — yes — but I — “ 

“Did you promise to remain true to him?” 

“Yes — but — " 

“Be calm! And now you have changed your mind?” 

“Yes!” 

“Why?” 

“Ah, dear papa,” sobbed Therese, who now saw an 
opportunity to move her angry father’s heart, “dear 
papa, because I could no longer bear to deceive you, 
because I learned to understand that you only desired 
my good.” 

“Very well, very well, we will talk of that later!” 
He passed through the door and returned to Lieuten- 
ant Adami. 


CHAPTER XII. 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 

There was one room in the elegant villa which con- 
trasted strangely with the rest. It was separated from 
the others, looked on the street, had two medium 
sized windows without fashionable curtains, in fact 
at the top of them hung on a cornice a simple material 
with ball-fring. The floor was of fir-boards scrupu- 
lously white, the stove of an uncommonly ugly shape 
and yellow. Here stood an old-fashioned sofa cov- 
ered with black oil-cloth, in front of it an old clumsy 
table likewise covered with oil-cloth; here on the wall 
in a black, oval frame hung the photograph of a lady, 
holding a child upon her lap; in one corner stood an 
organ-sieve, in the other a writing-desk of birch-wood, 
and here stood the easy-chair in which Herr Alois 
Krautner had taken his afternoon naps, since he, as 
young master-mason began housekeeping with his 
Hannchen. In a word, it was the master^s private 
room, the only one in which he felt comfortable, in 
which he felt “at home” in the summer in his shirt 
sleeves and in the winter in his dressing gown and 
night-cap; where he was daily reminded that he had 
arisen from a simple mason to a respected citizen. 
This room was his church in which he held a strange 
service; his temple of reminiscenses, for every article 
of furniture his beloved dead had shared in common 
with him. At this table they had, as young marriied 

180 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER I3I 

people eaten their first dinner and upon this sofa had 
they sat at evening when he returned home tired. 
And in this cupboard had been laid the first- dollars 
saved with a pride which thrust in the shade the con- 
sciousness of later wealth. 

In this room Lieutenant Adami sat upon the sofa. 
The real state of things was not quite clear to him. 
In his heart a hope still glimmered — if the father 
would allow himself to be softened? That Therese had 
really been untrue to him, his self-conscious mind 
could not comprehend. Her refusal was surely only 
fright at his unexpected appearance and his pas- 
sionate haste ! She must love him still, nothing else 
was possible! Were it not so, then — then all was at 
an end, then he would look into a fathomless chaos, 
and therefore the matter must not terminate unsatis- 
factorily, it must not! 

He started up when Herr Krautner entered, and 
then sank into a cbair as if crushed — no favorable 
signs were visible on the old gentleman’s face. Herr 
Krautner took a chair, seated himself opposite his 
guest, drummed with his short, round fingers on the 
green oil-cloth and finally began, after cleaning his 
throat : 

“My girl has not acted fairly toward you; Therese 
has, as they say, led you by the nose. I am grieved 
to find her up to such tricks, I always thought she 
was honorable and true like her mother. Well, the 
girls of to-day are different, and everyone is liable to 
make a mistake once. Had she written to you when 
she made the discovery: ‘Sir, I see that father is 
right, we are not suited to one another,’ that would 
have been proper; but as it is, I must confess, she 
is in the wrong. At this moment I feel certain that 


132 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


had you married, a misfortune would have arisen. 
You must forgive her, lieutenant. Well — please, 
please, remain seated,” he added soothingly, as Fried- 
rich Adami was about to rise with pallid cheeks, “we 
are not yet through,! have still something to say to you.” 

The officer again sank back; the old man paused, a 
strange tremor passed over his face. 

“I know you better than you think, lieutenant,” he 
continued. “In the first place I can read men’s faces 
a little, and secondl}^ I asked some one in Berlin — = 
well, let me say, a good friend of mine — to occasion- 
ally send me word of your doings — do you understand? 
Although I rejected you, I always reckoned upon the 
possibility of the girl persisting in marrying you. 

“After all I can only say I am pleased that Therese 
will no longer hear of a marriage with you, for — the 
reports of your priavte life are not very promising for 
my daughter’s future husband! Of your work in your 
calling, however, they spoke with the highest praise, 
and it is a pity for any dashing officer to be obliged 
to quit the service on account of frivolous debts. You 
are upon the point of doing so, lieutenant!" 

Adami sprang up. “Sir, what does that concern 
you?” cried he in a trembling voice, seizing his hat, 
which lay before him upon the table. 

“Will you not allow me to finish? I was about to 
say ; we, that is Thereschen, has done you a great 
wrong. Nothing is more unbearable to me than to go 
through life with the consciousness of having injured 
any one — my dram would not taste palatable, my after- 
noon nap would be disturbed and even my pleasure 
in my child would be gone. So I want to ask you to 
put confidence in me, in short, to confess to me 
frankly the amount of your debts,” 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


133 


Again Lieutenant Adami sprang up with the same 
words as before: “Sir, what does that concern you?” 

Again Herr Krautner pushed the young man, who 
with a trembling hand wiped the perspiration from his 
pale brow, back into the corner of the sofa. 

“Of course you can not — tell the exact sum; so I 
pray you write and send me the amount and name the 
creditors to me! I will come myself to Berlin and 
settle the matter — so, that is settled. But now I have 
a reciprocal condition: the girl over there no longer 
exists for you — do you see? I must have your word 
of honor. Furthermore I must insist that after your 
affairs are settled, you begin a different life — no more 
selst drinking, no expensive—I mean danseuses — do 
you understand? And cards! It is the advice of a 
man who means well. At bottom I should be indifferent 
as to what became of you; but, you see — He hesi- 
tated, whistled a few measures, cleared his throat and 
continued : 

“I can not forget the old lady whom you call your 
foster-mother. Several days ago I was walking on the 
promenade and met her. I had not seen her, as they 
say, by daylight for some time, and I was startled at 
the thousand wrinkles which she had brought on by 
grief on — your account, lieutenant, for the sparrows 
here twittered from the roofs that she has bit by bit 
given up her fortune for you. Julia is no drag on her, 
she lives like a bird on a few crumbs. And I recalled 
the days when I first saw her — when I worked at the 
house over there — a little, stupid apprentice. She 
was then a pretty, young girl, and I thought the Vir- 
gin Mary, when she was on earth, must have looked 
like her. She was not rememebred by me for her 
beauty alone, but because one day my father met with 


134 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


an accident. I had no mother, and when the people 
came and called down into the cellar, for we were 
working there — ‘Alois, your father has been hurt, they " 
are bringing him home dead !’ all ran away to see the 
injured man, and. I, poor boy, was suddenly left alone 
in the cellar and did not know scarcely what had hap- 
pened — suddenly the beautiful young lady stood there 
and took the poor, dirty little apprentice in her arms, 
stroked his tangled, fair hair, in which hung lime and 
spider-webs, and said: ‘Poor boy, ah, poor boy!’ And 
you see, the — the — ” 

He broke off, blew his nose and continued sharply: 
“So, you know now — not for your sake, but — well, 
the matter is settled — until we meet in Berlin! See 
to it that 5^ou go away as secretly as you came, it is 
important for the sake of us all, that the matter be 
hushed up. Good evening!" 

The door slammed and he had disappeared, leaving 
the officer to collect himself 

The latter took his hat and with lips compressed 
left the house, furious and ashamed, yet in the depths 
of his soul lurked a feeling of infinite relief. 

In the darkness he passed his own home, below, 
alongside of the stream. In his aunt’s room a light 
glimmered, a sensation of pity for the old lady was 
stealing over him, when he called himself to order. 
No sentimentality, no life in the so-called middle- 
way! A lieutenant’s life with eighteen dollars allow- 
ance monthly — never! As he stood there and gazed 
at the windows, a resolution matured within him — 
Africa! Out into another world! 

From the window of the railway-carriage he once 
more glanced at the tiny town and sought out the 
pointed tower of the Krautner’s villa. “Oh, that girl!" 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


135 


He clenched his fist, he had really been in love with 
the fair nixy and now! — In addition he was obliged 
to accept favors from a sentimental old fool, for there 
was no other means at hand! He lighted a cigar 
and the aromatic odor gradually soothed his choler. 
To be freed from his debts was indeed something 
to be appreciated, why grieve about the other? 

The next noon he calmly went to dine at the Casino 
and two days later, simultaneous with his discharge, 
he handed in a petition for position as officer in the 
German army in East Africa- 

“Why?” said his comrades “we thought you were 
going to be married?” 

He stroked his mustache and replied carelessly: 
“I am not suited for a Philistine, that good fortune 
comes soon enough.” 

He drank his half-and-half and said, he must go to 
the station to meet an old uncle who had taken a fancy 
to see the sights of the town; he would therefore not 
sup there that evening. The old uncle was Herr Alois 
Krautner, who was to help the lieutenant settle up 
his affairs. 

At half past eight o’clock upon the same evening 
on which Therese had broken her engagement — the 
young officer had scarcely left the Krautner estate — 
Julia’s slender form crept cautiously out of the neigh- 
boring house; she carried a tray with a dish of cake 
and cream which she was to take to Therese from 
Frau Roettger with the sincerest wishes for the speedy 
cure of the injured member. Julia walked along the 
garden-path, where were to be still seen in the snow 
her brother’s footprints, and had no suspicion that he 
had been there, that an important hour in his life had 
but shortly been lived through in this spot. 


136 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


She entered the hall and no one appeared, she went 
over to Therese’s door and knocked. But no hospitable 
“Come in!" was heard. So she turned the knob and 
thrust her dark head through the aperture. “May I 
come in?’’ rang cheerily in the ears of Therese, who 
was seated in one of the small chairs at the fire place, 
her back turned to the door. 

She now sprang up, and Julia saw a pale face with 
unnaturally bright eyes. 

“What do you want?’’ asked Therese, harshly, un- 
able to conceal her agitation ; “I am tired and want 
to go to bed.’’ 

“How you look!’’ said Julia, not wounded in the 
least, for she saw she was suffering. “Are you in 
great pain?’’ 

“Yes!" 

Miss Good-for-nothing set down the tray and turned 
to go. “Wait, Therese, I will fetch the doctor!’’ 

“I do not want’ him — for God^s sake, stay!’’ was 
called after her, and Therese pulled her friend’s dress 
with such vigor, that the gathers broke. “Pardon!” 
she stammered. 

“Yes, what ails you, Thereschen, you are so terribly 
agitated!” 

“Go to father,” murmured the fair maiden, "and 
bid him come to me!” 

Julia obeyed. She found Herr Krautner in his room; 
he sat in his arm-chair at the window, looking out 
into the dark, snowy garden. 

“What do you want, little girl?’’ he asked gently, 
in a voice which sounded different from usual. Julia 
delivered Therese’ s message. 

For a moment the old man was silent. “Tell her, 
if she wants to see me, she knows the way to me,” 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


137 


said he then. “The child should come to the father, 
not vice versa\ Unfortunately I neglected making this 
clear to her in time; from to-day on it will be differ- 
ent. ” 

And when Julia looked at him interrogativel}^ and 
in surprise he patted her cheek. “She had no mother, 
child, the old man looked upon the only thing left to 
him as one looks at a golden vessel, and worshiped 
the daughter as a Christ-child. It was not wise, it 
was not wise!” He shook his head. 

“Are you coming, sir?” asked Miss Good-for-nothing 
once more, softly. 

He rather rose from his chair, then said he again: 
“No, I shall not come!” 

“Thereschen,” said Julia to her friend, “I do not 
know what has transpired between you, but you are 
the child, go over to him', give him your hand!” 

Instead of replying Therese began to sob bitterly. 

‘No one wants to understand me, I can do right for 
no one! Even when I am ill and in pain, no one has 
any consideration for me. I shall not go, I shall not 
go to him; he has treated me as if I were a culprit, 
I had rather run away and never return, never!” Again 
she began to weep, until she was in such a state of 
excitement, that Miss Good-for-nothing once more 
hastened to implore the old gentleman to come over 
for Therese seemed to be really ill. 

He came and approached the pale, trembling crea- 
ture, who lay upon the sofa; carefully he spread the 
coverlet over the slender form, and his plain, usually 
so jovial face wore an exprsesion of sorrow and ten- 
derness. 

“Well, do not cry any more, as if the greatest wrong 
had been done you, do you hear?” he blustered. Take 


138 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


warning from this! Your mother would not have done 
such a thing, she was so honest and upright. Be 
serious, and zounds! cease trembling, or you will be 
ill; I think it would be better to fetch the doctor, 
that he may — ’’ 

She again started up. “Not the doctor, not the 
doctor!" 

“Well — no, no!" he soothed. “There, drink some 
sugar-water and go to bed; I will sit beside you then, 
until you fall asleep, and Julchen will help you to un- 
dress; I do not care to have your maid see your agi- 
tation." 

Julia helped the still trembling girl to bed, the old 
man returned, seated himself beside his darling and 
prepared to guard her as a mother would. 

Miss Good-for-nothing withdrew. Her eyes filled 
with tears, as she once more looked back at the girl 
who was half asleep, and who was so lovingly watched 
over. She did not know what had happened, but had 
it been the very greatest, severest trial, she who was 
the recipient of such love was to be envied. 

“Happy 'iherese, who has a father and a lover!" 

With difficulty she suppressed an exclamation of 
delight. Ah, she too had some happiness! There at 
the gate leading into the Krautner’s garden, he stood 
awaiting her! His mother had surely told him that 
she had gone out. 

“Well?" he asked, walking beside her. “How is 
she. Good-for-nothing?" 

“Better!" she replied in a low voice. “She is 
asleep." 

He nodded with satisfaction. They walked toward 
home in silence. The walk was indescribably beauti- 
ful. 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 


139 


“Sleep well, little one,” said he in the hall wearily, 
with a suppressed yawn. He bowed and vanished 
behind his door. 

“Good-night! ’’ she murmured, ascending the stairs. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A SUITOR FOR MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. 

It is very difficult for a youthful heart to lock up with- 
in itself that which moves, delights, grieves it. The 
impressions which a heart receives, threaten to cause 
it to burst, and other sympathetic hearts must help it 
to bear the weighty, blissful or painful incidents in 
the course of a first love. Rarely is the mother the 
confidante, it is almost always a friend, who also has 
a secret. Such girlhood friendship is a touching thing 
— always ready to comfort, to weep or to laugh, and 
always ready to discover wonderful things where per- 
haps another would see the purest prose. 

Miss Good-for-nothing had no mother, and she, who 
had promised to take this place, had never been able 
to love her. The quiet child would never have dared 
even to hint to her pale, sad aunt, about anything 
that moved her. Therese Krautner was no friend to 
her in the true sense of the word; she particularly 
avoided all intimacy with Julia, since she became en- 
gaged to her brother, and Julia was much too proud 
to seek a friendship that was denied her. But in 
her loneliness of heart she suffered deeply, for she was 
naturally clinging and affectionate, and all her cold- 
ness and apparent lack of feeling were acquired, the 
result of a loveless youth. Only in the wonderful ey-es 
could be seen the clear, sweet light which her soul 
hid; but these eyes were almost always veiled beneath 

140 


A SUITOR FOR MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


I4I 

their blue-black lashes. To be sure, Frau Roettger 
called it “coquetry,” for were the lashes suddenly 
raised and did Miss Good-for-nothing look another 
person full in the face, he would be startled by the 
rays which shone forth, betraying a depth of life, a 
fund of sensibility. 

“Fortunately,’ Frau Roettger was in the habit of 
saying, “she has no opportunity of exercising her dan- 
gerous art, for with the exception of Fritz she is 
thrown with no man, and Fritz is accustomed to it, it 
will not harm him — one might live for the longest 
time amid the finest scenery and be unaware of it. 
And besides her eyes there is nothing striking about 
the girl that could be called pretty; her black hair 
looks as if it were braided silk, and her complexion 
is as yellow as my antique lace." 

Yet there was one in whom these eyes had awakened 
love, who at any price — Frau Roettger clasped her 
hands above her head — wished to marry the possessor 
of these eyes! 

Miss Good-for-nothing herself had no suspicion 
that the love of a man was seeking her with ardent 
longing; she addressed the invalid, who daily with 
difficulty crossed the threshold of the waiting-room, 
leaning on the arm of a servant, as pleasantly as any 
of the other patients, perhaps still more so, for in the 
face of such suffering her heart overflowed with pity. 
Was there any greater misfortune than to be young, 
wealthy and yet to be prevented from enjoying life on 
account of a frail body? She, who appeared so com- 
posed and was yet so restless, who could not have 
existed without hastening three or four times every 
day through the garden to the river, to row in the 
summer with her dainty yet muscular arms, felt doubly 


142 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


compassionate when she saw one who could only en- 
joy Nature from his invalid-chair. But her sympathy 
brought grief to one poor mortal’s heart. He thought 
to have found in the beautiful, kind creature that 
which could reconcile him with life, and on this par- 
ticular day at noon his mother appeared and required 
a private conversation with Frau Roettger. 

She was a widow, a proud woman, who had never 
appeared in Andersheim society, and who lived a re- 
tired life with her son. 

She was a very poor girl of an old French family 
when Herr Norban made her acquaintance, just after 
her father had lost his last penny at the gaming table 
and then shot himself in despair. This may have led 
her to give her hand to the plebeian suitor and to go 
with him as his wife to his fine villa on the Rhine. 
Fortunately this villa was separated from the factory 
by an extensive park; she did not care to be reminded 
that her lord manufactured “German Champagne,” 
although it was some consolation to her to know, that 
Napoleon III., so it was said, had once wooed the lovely 
“Veuve Cliquot, ” But she was a woman of strong 
character, and in addition one sorely-afflicted. Her 
only son, her Alphonse, who was born with the bright- 
est hopes, had since his boyhood been a cripple. 
When over-heated he had bathed in the Rhine, to be 
carried home paralyzed — a terrible blow to his mother, 
who, however, did not lose courage. She sought to 
fulfill her adored son’s every wish, she gave him the 
best of educations, and when his father died in con- 
sequence of wounds received in the war against France 
— he had participated in the campaign as a reserve 
officer — she became not only her boy’s sole comfort, 
but too a German; she never forgave her compatriots 


A SUITOR FOR MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


H3 

for having robbed her poor boy of his father. 

And this woman came to-day to propose for her be- 
loved child for the hand and heart of little Miss Good- 
for-nothing. 

For forty-eight hours she had in despair opposed 
this plan, her heart was well nigh broken. She had 
longed to be all to her only child, and the thought of 
having to share his love with another, was terrible to 
her. But finally she submitted, tormented only by 
the fear that the cripple might be scorned. 

Frau Roettger’s head swam when Frau Norban was 
announced; for the proud woman was not in the habit 
of paying calls. She now sat like a statue upon the 
sofa beside the lad}^ whose black mustache on her 
upper lip she saw near by for the first time, and whose 
sable-trimmed velvet mantle served to entirely turn 
Frau Roettger’s brain. 

"'Enfin," said Frau Norban, “Alphonse loves this 
young girl ; he can offer her a great deal. A fortune 
— in case of his early death we would see that she 
was properly provided for — a position, the touching, 
grateful love of his kind heart. He — ’’ she passed 
her hand over her eyes and wiped away a tear. 

“Ah, I beg of you, madame, ’’ assured Frau Minna, 
“what girl would not be pleased, if your son — And 
he wants to marry Julia?” she interrupted, with a 
fresh access of astonishment, “to really marry her?’‘ 

Frau Norban cleared her throat. “I have come per- 
sonally to speak for him, I should think the matter 
was clear. The young lady’s aunt has always been 
described to me as inaccessible, therefore I have come 
to you, dear Frau Roettger.” 

“Oh, Lord,” replied the latter, as if an unhoped-for 
gift had fallen in her own lap, “what good fortune for 
the child and for my poor sister 1” 


144 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“Please arrange so that I can see the girl.” 

“Now? You do not even know Julchen?" 

Frau Norban shook her head. “Only from my son’s 
description.” 

Frau Roettger, as swiftly as her felt slippers would 
permit, hastened out of the room and up the stairs. 
Julia was up-stairs in her kitchen preparing oat meal 
broth for Aunt Riekchen, who had become ill, on ob- 
taining no news of her foster-son, and who was con- 
fined to her bed. 

Like a storm-cloud Frau Roettger in her soft shoes, 
shot into the kitchen and, crimson with excitement, 
called to the terrified girl in a trembling voice: 

“Hurry, put on another dress, wash your hands, 
someone is downstairs — ” She gasped for breath. 
“Only be quick and come neat and pretty, do you 
hear?” 

“What am I to do downstairs, aunt?” asked Julia 
calmly. 

“A lady has fainted — fetch a glass of water!” 

Frau Roettger herself thought this subterfuge ex- 
tremely absurd, as she descended the stairs, but she 
could think of no other. Still gasping for breath she 
sat by the side of her caller, when the door suddenly 
opened and the young girl appeared with a plate upon 
which was a glass of fresh water. She had not changed 
her dress, for, according to her opinion the dress in 
which one hastened to assist a fainting person, was a 
matter of indifference, and so she came in her simple, 
dark woolen gown, her face flushed slightly from the 
kitchen fire. 

Frau Norban, who had no idea that she had been 
described as in a swoon, raised her lorgnette and with 
surprise glanced at the odd but charming apparition. 


A SUITOR FOR MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


145 


She now understood all; she was aware of her son’s 
ardent love of the beautiful, she herself had cultivated 
it. And this creature, this blooming beauty, he wanted 
for his own, poor boy! She dropped her lorgnette 
and lowered her eyes before those of Julia, who offered 
her the glass of water. 

“Thank you, my dear child.” 

“Madame is better now!” cried Frau Roettger. 

“Yes, but will you not be seated a moment?” con- 
tinued Frau Norban with a slightly surprised air, as 
Julia turned to leave the room. “I should like,” she 
added, drawing the girl to a chair at her side, “I 
should like to thank you., You do not know me, but 
I know you through my son.” 

“Yes, Frau Norban, I do know you,” replied Julia. 
“Your son has often spoken to me of his mother.” 

“Has he?” she asked, coloring with delight. “He 
is a good boy, a good, noble boy, I, his proud mother, 
can say so. You should read his poems — would you 
like to? I will send them to you; you will learn to 
know his heart from them!" 

Julia’s eyes were downcast. “I shall be pleased,” 
said she, in confusion. She felt that something un- 
usual caused the lady to speak thus. 

“And will you not visit me? Yes? That is kind 
of you. This afternoon?” 

“I am sorry, madame, but my aunt is seriously in- 
disposed to-day.” ^ 

“Ah, nonsense!” interrupted Frau Roettger, “you 
can go very well, I will look after her; you will not 
always be able to stay with her!” 

“You are a good child,” said Frau Norban rising. 
“Not to-day then, but to-morrow I will take no re- 
fusal, I will send the carriage for you. And now fare- 
well— until we meet again!” 


146 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


She seized both of Miss Good-for-nothing’s hands, 
and a melancholy smile trembled about her full lips, 
as she saw the sweet child-like embarrassment ex- 
pressed upon her face. “Until we meet again, dear 
child — adieu, Frau Roettger!” 

She advanced to the door. Julia stood there as if 
rooted to the spot, but Frau Minna hastened after her 
guest and conducted her across the court to her car- 
riage. When she returned, the young girl was al- 
ready ascending the stairs. 

“Heavenly Father! The wooden thing was not even 
curious!” 

“Wait a minute,” she called out, that your aunt 
may not receive too great a shock!” 

“Why a shock?” asked Julia, pausing. 

The excited woman was already beside her, “Good 
Lord, have you no sense at all? Or do you only affect 
not to see the good fortune to be showered upon you?” 
She grasped the girl’s hand and pushed her through 
the door of Aunt Riekchen’s bedroom. Then she 
called to her terrified sister, her arms akimbo: 

“Riekchen, now look at her, just look at her! Neither 
of us would have dreamed of it — ah, heavens, I must 
sit down!” 

The nervous invalid sat up suddenly in bed. “What 
is it?” she asked with difficulty, and her eyes were 
turned with veritable horror upon the pallid girl, in 
whom arose a vague suspicion that this matter con- 
cerned her future. 

“You need not be frightened, you will be relieved 
from your troubles all at once, Riekchen! Only fancy, 
this silly, little goose has had a stroke of good-luck 
such as no other girl in the town has had — an offer of 
marriage, one which is not to be scorned — what do 


A SUITOR FOR MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 1 47 

you say to it, Riekchen? Alphonse Norban wants 
her!” 

A slight, anxious cry vibrated through the room 
simultaneous with the lady’s last words. Then silence 
followed. The two sisters gazed at Miss Good-for- 
nothing who still stood upon the same spot, erect, 
her head thrown back, deathly pale. A shudder shook 
her frame. 

‘Tt is not true!” at length came from her quivering 
lips. 

‘‘Not true? Yes, it is difficult to believe, bat it is 
true nevertheless! His mother especially commis- 
sioned me to talk with your aunt about it.” 

‘‘But, Minna, he is — he is — ” 

‘‘Leave the room!” Frau Roettger interrupted, turn- 
ing to Julia. ‘‘And do you, Riekchen, cease your sen- 
timentality! To be sure, he is delicate — but is he to 
have no wife on that account.” 

‘‘Not me!” came from Julia’s lips. She stood still 
and spoke calmly and circumspectly. ‘‘Not me!” she 
again repeated. 

‘‘You will consider it well,” said Frau Roettger. 
‘‘But first I wish to speak with you, Riekchen; leave 
the room, Julia!” 

‘‘I should like to remain!” 

‘‘Let her stay,” said the invalid, sinking back among 
her pillows with a sigh, ‘‘it is her affair, and I do not 
want her to think I am interfering in something which 
she alone has to decide.” 

‘‘No one can talk with you! You are probably 
awaiting the Grand Mogul? As if the opportunity 
would again be present to even provide respectably 
for such a Miss Lack-penny! For heaven’s sake, child- 
consider into what circumstances you are marrying! 


148 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


They will set you in a veritable fairy-nest, the poor 
fellow is desperately enamored of you, and what pleases 
him, pleases his mother likewise. Just fancy, how 
free from care your life would be there as a respected 
wife. You can travel, seethe world, have your charm- 
ing house, your theater box in Weisbaden and your 
carriage ; you will be cared for, guarded and waited 
upon like a princess; not a trial will come to you, 
while they await you otherwise on every hand. Or 
do you think it so easy to go through the world as a 
poor girl, to be driven from pillar to post? For you 
cannot delude yourself into believing that you will be 
here much longer. Had I been in your place long 
ago I could not have seen my poor aunt grieving her- 
self to death over my unprovided- for future. You 
should fall upon your knees and thank God, for send- 
ing an expedient out of all this perplexity and for 
giving you an opportunity to repay in some measure 
the poor creature there—” she pointed to the sick 
woman — ‘‘for what she has done for you. Look at it 
from this side, you will then think differently!” 

During this speech Miss Good-for-nothing’s head 
sank lower and lower, her arms hung at her sides, 
her eyes were dim; she felt as if an icy hand were 
pushing her back, constantly farther back from the 
bright, peaceful sunshine into the blossomless, dreary 
v; inter. She did not want to go. She clung to what 
had been her stay, she clung firmly to it with her an- 
guish-rent heart. 

‘‘Ah, I will do anything to help aunt, but not that, 
not that!” 

‘‘You will do anything? That is idle talk!” ex- 
claimed Frau Roettger. ‘‘What would you do? Would 
you seek a position? You would scarcely earn your 


A SUITOR FOR MiSS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING I49 

salt, others do not. And what else could you be? 
Does nursing pay? You would do better to nurse your 
own husband, then you would know what you have.” 

"But I do not want to!” cried the girl suddenly. 
"Cease, I do not want to, aunt!” 

"Why not?” 

"Because I do not love him!” 

"No one asks that. Is that the only reason? You 
know, it is out of fashion, it is absurd, at least in 
your position very absurd.” 

Miss Good-for-nothing slowly turned her angry eyes 
upon Aunt Riekchen. She must understand her surely, 
for she too had remained true to her lover and had 
rejected all others, even after he had deserted her. 

"Help me!” besought her glance. But hastily she 
averted her head; from the bright, feverish eyes a 
prayer went out to her heart, an ardent, anxious prayer, 
which said so plainly, ah, so plainly: "If you could 
decide!” 

With a contemptuous gesture the girl turned and 
went out. Now she sat in her tiny room, her hands 
clasped in her lap. What was to be was not quite 
clear to her, only one thing was she conscious of, he 
would help her, he would finally, say: "Cease 
your tormenting — she is mine, mine for ever!” If he 
would only come, he stayed away so long to-day! 

She could hear Frau Roettger’s voice; she must be 
speaking very loudly and very eagerly. She did not 
think of dinner to-day. This proposal had had the 
effect of a thunderbolt and had upset all order. 

The door of the next room was slammed and Frau 
Roettger hastened across the hall; her footsteps could 
not be heard, but her angry muttering was audible. 
Then all was still. 


150 MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 

At length the j^oung girl remembered that the in- 
valid had not yet had her soup, and hastened to take 
it to her. Aunt Riekchen lay with her hot, aching 
head upon her pillow and would not eat; she impa- 
tiently warded off the hand which sought to take hers. 

"Go, go," said she, "I do not wish to see or hear any- 
thing of it all, I have but one desire — I would, I were 
dead!" 

Miss Good-for-nothing did not dare to utter a com- 
forting word ; she now knew that her aunt was angry 
because she did not grasp the first opportunity to rid 
the house of her burdensome presence. She crept 
away and gazed out of the hall window across the 
court, to see if he, who was to protect her, were not 
coming. But the snowy court was deserted and the 
whole house as silent as death. Frau Roettger was 
no doubt trying to rest after the excitement of the 
forenoon. Julia did not remember ever having seen 
the old lady so agitated, so vexed. What could it 
matter to her, if she, Julia, was rich, or not? Then 
before the girPs eyes rose the pale, sunken face of the 
man, who desired her for his wife. Those features so 
ashen, so transparent, so mortally ill; and a shudder 
stole over her, a feeling of resistance bordering on 
disgust. Would he but come! 

Suddenly she heard the bell below ring, very softly; 
he usually came thus, if he thought his mother was 
sleeping. The next moment she was on the stairs 
and ran through the hall into the waiting-room. He 
was just removing his overcoat and scarcely glanced 
at Miss Good-for-nothing, who advanced with a pale 
face and hands tightly clasped. 

‘‘Fritz," she began, and now where she thought she 
was the surest, she lost her with difficulty-maintained 


A SUITOR FOR MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 15I 

composure. “Fritz, you told me, in the summer, it 
any one wanted to harm me— I should find protection 
with you. Now I pray you, help me!” 

“Come, Julia, it is cold here,” he replied calmly, 
leading the way into his study. “Certainly I will help 
you, if you need help. What has happened? Have 
you, poor little thing, been scolded again, have you 
broken some of my mother’s china, or what is it?” 

With those words he took a stethoscope and a roll of 
bandages from his coat, seated himself in his arm chai r 
at the table and pointed with a smile to the chair 
beside it. “Well?” he then asked. 

Julia gazed fixedly in his face, and it occurred to 
her that he looked different from usual, so much graver 
and yet glorified; she was familiar with the quivering 
of the muscles in his face which denoted inward agi- 
tation. Ah, she had never noticed but this one face 
in the world! 

“Well?” he asked again. 

“You must explain to aunt and your mother, that un- 
der no conditions will I marry Herr Norban,” said she 
quickly. 

He turned and stared at her. “Child, if I did not 
know you were a perfectly rational and composed lit- 
tle creature, I should think you were not quite right 
in your head; no one will require such a thing of you !” 

“Nevertheless ‘it has been required of me — Frau Nor- 
ban was at your mother’s to-day and asked my hand 
for her son. ” 

He laughed incredulously ; but when he saw her 
serious face twitch with pain, he cried, springing up : 
“That is an absurd thought, pure madness! But calm 
yourself, child, I am still here! And there comes 
mother! Now be good and do not tremble, child!” 


152 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


Frau Roettger started on seeing the young girl. “It 
is to be hoped you will present the state of affairs 
clearly to her!’’ said she crossly. 

“I have done my best, by telling her, that I would 
consider it shameless, were she to marry a walking 
corpse for the sake of worldly advantage. Fortunately, 
she seems to entertain no thoughts of it.’’ He spoke 
very calmly, took a couple of pamphlets from one 
place in the table and laid them in another and con- 
tinued ; “I shall go to Frau Norban afterward to thank 
her formally for this proposal and to tell her that I 
am prepared to treat her son, but not here, between 
their own four walls ; and in case he requires a compan- 
ion a.nd nurse, he needs only to advertise in one of the 
principal papers— there are hundreds of them. And 
by this means we and they will be helped out of this. 
Had you anything more to sa}', mother?” 

No, Frau Roettger had nothing more to say, she 
could not have expressed her opinion, even had she 
wanted to, for her throat was contracted by her son’s 
concise explanation. She left the room in silence, 
and within for a while nothing could be heard but 
the rattling caused by the banging of the door. 

Then a low sob was audible. Miss Good-for-noth- 
ing’s face was buried in her hands, and while a nerv- 
ous tremor caused her to shudder, she articulated un- 
intelligible words. In affright he sought to quiet her; 
he had never seen her weep, not even when a child, 
and had formerly often wondered ^t her fixed appear- 
ance. This outburst of deep inward agitation touched 
him; he leaned toward her in order the better to un- 
derstand what she wanted, in order to find out what 
still oppressed her. The sisterly confidence placed 
in him by the girl moved him, he gently raised her 


A SUITOR FOR MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


153 


head and laid his right hand soothingly upon her 
hair. 

“Julia,” he implored, “be calm; you know now, the 
matter is arranged. In every mortal there is a goodly 
portion of selfishness, in the poor invalid who wants 
to marry you, there is a double, a sinful allowance. 
You must not blame him, he has been spoiled by his 
mother, he has always been in the habit of having 
what he wants. But this time his wish will not be 
gratified, for my little comrade shall never be sacri- 
ficed to this selfishness.” 

Still from beneath the girl’s lashes the tears con- 
tinued to trickle. She dreaded what was to follow, 
the eternal reproaches, the life which after this oc- 
currence would be more comfortless than ever; and 
the yearning for security, for affection, for love, for 
the one heart that understood her, was at this moment 
stronger than ever. She raised her tear-stained face, 
her hands were clasped and her lips moved. He put 
his ear to her lips, in order to hear the soft whisper, 
and he heard distinctly what she was saying, so dis- 
tinctly that his heart almost stood still with affright. 

“Oh, do not leave me so terribly alone, Fritz! Tell 
them, that you — that we both — that we" — 

He did not let her finish. “Julia,” said he aloud 
as he rose, drawing the girl with him, “Julia, con- 
sider!” And as at the same moment the rosy light of 
shame flitted over her face, he drew her to him and 
said in a trembling voice: “Julia, my poor, little sis- 
ter, you are not deserted, you will never be, and as 
a proof of how your old playmate loves you, he will 
confide something in you. But come, sit down by my 

side ” and he drew her down beside him on the 

sofa. “I will confide something to you, which I have 


154 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


scarcely dared as yet to confess to myself, not even 
yesterday, and which I can tell no one but you, my 
little comrade. Julia — I — ’’ 

He paused suddenly and sprang up. It was a terri- 
ble poison he was about to employ as a means of cure, 
possibly life-destroying; and the words would not pass 
his lips, although he assured himself that this was the 
only means that would be of any avail. Then he re- 
turned resolute and stopped before the girl, who sat 
unnaturally still upon the sofa, a perplexed smile 
about her mouth. “Julia, I love, and since this morn- 
ing I know I am loved in return. I know, you— you — 
you too will love Therese as a sister, as my wife — ’’ 

He had not foreseen such an effect! A truly petrified 
countenance stared at him and a cry, so shrill and 
sad, smote on his ear, a cry more bitter than he had 
ever heard. 

“No!” she cried, “No, do not say that — not Therese! 
For God’s sake, say it is not true!” 

She was upon her knees before him, undone by fear 
and pain. He had never believed the shy girlish creat- 
ure capable of such mad passion as spoke from the 
large eyes, from the tone of the voice, from the trem- 
bling of her limbs. “Julia!” cried he, impatiently, re- 
treating a step. 

She did not rise. “Fritz, I pray you — you must not 
— she must not — if you do not know — Great God, it 
can not be possible!” 

A rough hand dragged her from the floor. “Do not 
forget all propriety?” cried Frau Roettger, who had 
heard the girl’s exclamation in the hall, “shame on 
you! Here girls do not fall upon young mens’ necks 
— do you hear?” 

And as Julia raised her hands to her temples and 


A SUITOR FOR MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


155 


stood there as if awakening from a terrible dream to 
still more terrible reality, Frau Roettger continued: 
"Yes, shame on you! But I suspected long ago that 
you were in love with Fritz, only I did not want to say 
so!" 

With these words she again tried to seize the girl’s 
arm to lead her out. But she grasped space; Miss 
Good-for-nothing had fallen unconscious upon the 
floor, and the doctor bore her to the sofa. 

"Great God!” exclaimed his mother, "what have I 
always told you, there is something abominably com- 
mon in this girl.” 

"Mother,” said he trembling, as he busied himself 
with the fainting girl, "if I did not know that you did 
not mean what you say — oh, God, I would be vexed 
with you! Be kind enough to fetch some wine and 
to hand me the ether over there!” 

"Well,” said Frau Roettger, as with composure she 
fetched the articles required, "her mother did just 
the same, and like father, like son. I am only pleased 
at one thing, that I accidentally discovered that you 
and Thereschen love each other, it will gladden my 
last days — she is coming to,” she added. 

It was so. Slowly Julia sat up. With a silent ges- 
ture she evaded the doctor’s hand and support, then 
she went unsteadily through the room to the door. A 
strange smile played about her mouth. 

Up-stairs Julia lay quietly upon her bed; she did 
not clearly realize what she was doing, she only felt 
that something was different within and about her. 
She put her hand to her heart, which ached, and as 
she did so she smiled again. No one came to look 
after her; who should indeed? 

Some time had elapsed since Julia pale and trem- 


156 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


bling ascended the stairs, when Aunt Riekchen’s little 
maid rushed into Frau Roettger’s sitting-room. There 
in the corner by the greenish stove among the cush- 
ions sat a pretty, fair girl, looking down with bright 
blue eyes at the man who held her hand and softly 
pressed a kiss upon it. 

“Then, when you return from the South) Therese,” 
he had just said, “I can speak to your father?’’ 

“Yes,” she replied. “I wish to let him enjoy our 
trip to the full, for if he knew that he was traveling 
in my society for the last time, he would always look 
upon Nice with a feeling of melancholy. “But,” she 
added, shaking her finger menacingly, while she smiled 
at him, “do not be impatient, please!” 

“I will wait, as you desire, Therese; I am so grate- 
ful to you for giving me this hour to-night.” 

Therese looked at him in surprise; she was pleased 
that he did not insist upon speaking to her father that 
day, she would enjoy her freedom once more to her 
heart’s desire. She had not thought it would be so 
easy to carrry out her will. And now the doctor did 
not even make an attempt to claim his happiness to 
himself by means of golden rings and engagement 
notices! He sat before her as quietly and with as 
much composure as a man who has been married for 
years and who needs not to worr}^ about a possible 
loss. 

“Are you a bit jealous?” she jested. 

“Jealous? No! 1 always think jealousy is insult- 
ing to the one we love; it shows a lack of confi- 
dence.” 

For an instant she bit her under lip with her little 
white teeth, then she laughed. 

Just then the servant from upstairs rushed into the 


A SUITOR FOR MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


157 


room with a frightened air. “Doctor, come quickly, 
Fraulein Julia is ill, she talks all the time to her 
brother who is not there at all.” 

He sprang up and ran out, without apologizing to 
Therese. 

“What is the matter with Julia and Frieder?” asked 
Therese, uneasily approaching Frau Roettger, who sat 
like a statue on the sofa before the lamp, apparently 
so engrossed in her calendar that she saw and heard 
nothing. 

“I do not know, my darling,” replied the fortunate 
mother-in-law. “She may be delirious, she was not 
at all well to-day at table.” 

But Therese seemed to have no desire to enter into 
a conversation with the old lady; she paced the room in 
silence. 

Fritz came back. “She is very ill, mother,” said 
he, “I fear it will prove to be brain fever; until I ob- 
tain a nurse, I wish you would remain with her.” 

“Is she unconscious?” asked Therese. 

“Unfortunately, unfortunately !” 

And when his mother had gone, he clasped his 
betrothed in his arms and looked gravely in her eyes. 

“Now come, I will take you home, I must then go 
back to the sick girl. But first, let me say farewell. 
Until we meet again, my darling one!” 

His eyes were dim as he kissed her — for the first 
time. At the door of the villa he once more took the 
pretty face between his hands. “God grant we may 
meet again!” said he tenderly, then he left her. 

Up-stairs in the tiny sick-chamber Miss Good-for- 
nothing in her delirium was whispering with her 
brother. 

“Ah, Frieder, we two — we two!” said she just as the 


158 MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 

doctor entered. “Ah, Frieder, we two! But you will 
forget it, you are a man, you have too a thousand more 
— but I — I had only the one — “ and she laughed. 

“What does she want with Frieder all the time?” 
whispered Frau Roettger, putting on another ice com- 
press. 

He shrugged his shoulders and seated himself by 
the bed of his little comrade. And so he sat still, 
when early in the morning the shrill whistle of the 
locomotive was heard through the window — it was the 
train bearing his fiancee toward the South. 

Therese was reclining on the seat of a first-class 
coup6. The old gentleman was again asleep; he gen- 
erally slept during the ride, but beforehand he had 
carefully wrapped his little daughter in a rug and put 
her tiny feet in their furlined shoes on the seat oppo- 
site. 

She was not asleep but stared with tired eyes into 
the darkness of the December morning. But when 
by degrees day with its cold, gray lights dawned, she 
shivered and yawned. The world seemed to her so 
terribly prosaic, since yesterday she felt so terribly 
serious, and yet she had just attained the height of 
her wishes, upon the fulfillment of which, she thought 
the happniess and peace of her life depended — Doctor 
Roettger had confessed his love to her. The unrest 
had left her, her ambition was gratified, and yet! She 
yawned again — that disagreeable, early rising! 

Half dreamily she ran over the events of the past 
few days. How opportunely Julia's illness came; 
otherwise she might have talked too much. So they 
suspected nothing and when she returned in the 
spring, then — well, then a great deal of water would 
have flown down the Rhine. For the time being 


159 


A SUITOR FOR MISS GOOD’FOR-NOTHING 

she could comfortably enjoy the Carnival at Nice. 

She laid her pretty head upon the cushion and once 
more thought with satisfaction, that the man about 
whom all the unmarried ladies of the town raved, was 
hers. Then she pictured her future domestic life; the 
old, interesting house could be so stylishly furnished, 
it contained such fine rooms. His mother and aunt 
could surely not remain there, as little as Julia. The 
large court buildings and the stables would be admira- 
bly adapted for the servants, for coach houses and 
stalls, the court itself could be remodeled like a me- 
diaeval castle-court, and provided with a square, a sun- 
dial, a fine fountain and so forth. The garden — it con- 
tained finer old trees than did Thereschen’s own gar- 
den — and the gondola, no a couple of gondolas, then 
one could give fairy-like garden-parties. The young 
girPs eyes closed, she was asleep! 


CHAPTER XIV, 


SUNSHINE THAT MAKES DARK SHADOWS. 

The bright spring sunshine greeted Miss Good-for- 
nothing with its dazzling light, as for the first time 
after her illness she crept down the stairs, to obtain a 
few breaths of fresh air. She clung timidly to the 
balusters; she lacked the supporting, careful hand, 
such as is offered to convalescents even the poorest, 
she had to depend upon her own feet — if they had 
only not been so feeble! But who should help her? 
Her aunt was herself so miserable that she required 
a support, and Frau Roettger? She had, since Julia 
was out of danger and out of bed, scarcely awarded a 
glance. Since she had made the “improper scene,’’ 
the “good-for-nothing hanger-on’’ did not exist for 
her. But Fritz, Fritz was as kind as ever — and yet 
how different. Ah, indeed, everything was changed! 

The young girl now crept into the garden. In the 
broad walk lined with vines the sun burned through 
the bare branches, and in the border on both sides of 
the beech-lined road bloomed blue and yellow crocuses. 

The perfume of violets filled the air and there was 
a brownish shimmer on the boughs of bushes and 
trees. 

The stream was greatly swollen, the island was 
under water. Julia looked upon all this as if in a 
dream, the air had a stupefying effect upon her, for 
she had not been out of doors for months. Suddenly 

ICO 


SUNSHINE THAT MAKES DARK SHADOWS l6l 

she was forced to lean against the trunk of the nut- 
tree; as if through a veil she still saw the glittering 
stream and the awakening life of Nature. 

Upon the Krautner’s villa a flag was just being 
hoisted on the gayly painted staff. Julia followed it 
with languid eyes; how merrily it floated up there! 
No one had told her, but she knew, it was the wel- 
coming greeting to those returning this day from the 
South. 

A sharp pain darted through the girl’s breast. She 
said to herself that Fritz had probably omitted his 
visit to her room because he did not wish her to see 
his delight. 

She clenched her teeth, and, angry with herself, 
shook her head. What did she want? It was all 
right — might he experience the happiness in the pos- 
session of Therese which he expected ! The trying 
time until her complete recovery would pass too, and 
then she could leave the house, could make herself 
independent — and all, who were left behind, would 
probably bless the moment when she closed the door 
behind her. Oh, how fine it must be to own a be- 
loved, cozy home, a spot in which one could always, 
be welcome, where were true hearts, open arms, hands 
that blessed one, that shared with one their last bit 
of bread. How easy a life had a man like Frieder — 
yes, where was Frieder at this moment? 

He had one day briefly informed his aunt that he 
was weary of the monotonous duty of the garrison, 
that he had asked for his discharge, and at the same 
time applied for a commission in the German army 
in East Africa. As soon as he received his commis- 
sion he would come to bid her good bye. So between 
Christmas and New Year he had indeed spent four- 


i 62 


MI^S GOOD FOR-NOTHING 


and-twenty hours there, to bid the old lady farewell. 
Julia did not remember if he had pressed her hand on 
departing, for at the time her fever was at its height. 
But from that moment Aunt Riekchen was completely 
crushed, all her thoughts were centered upon the dis- 
tant land, all her prayers asked protection for the be- 
loved foster-son, who, obeying his love of adventure, 
would certainly be murdered by the savages. At any 
rate all was as he wished it; he left the army to prove 
his strength in distant lands, and when he left the 
house that had been his home, he went away with 
the old lady’s last ready-money and left behind him 
a heart heavy and ready to break. , 

Had he heard of Therese’s infidelity? Was that the 
cause of his turning his back on Europe? About this 
Julia was not clear herseif, but one thing she was 
positive of, that as a happy lover he had shown no 
such interest in German- Africa. At any ra?te Julia 
had told ho one that Frieder and Therese were en- 
gaged. She had no right to, she said, and in the face 
of the established fact of another, and an acknowledged 
courtship, she would only have occasioned complica- 
tions, have destroyed the peace of a heart, the dearest 
to her on earth, perhaps have blighted hjs happiness, 
and that she must never do. She had victoriously 
suppressed the constantly recurring warning: “Tell 
him, she has just broken faith with another. ” The 
reason which impelled her to disclose Therese’s char- 
acter to him did not seem to her sincere and pure 
enough. Yes, had she been his sister! But she was 
nothing more than a girl who loved him, loved him 
so far above all else, that it was not alone pure, hon- 
est care for his welfare, it was something of which she 
herself was ashamed^ together with a violent, passion- 
ate grief and bitter, devouring jealousy. 


SUNSHINE THAT MAKES DARK SHADOWS 163 

So she was silent — silent, when he sat by the bed 
in the days when consciousness gradually returned, 
when with an anxious air and a compassionate ex- 
pression in his eyes he held her trembling hand; si- 
lent, when she learned from Frau Roettger that the 
doctor’s engagement would be announced immediate- 
ly after Therese’s return. She did not cry out, “The 
girl you love is faithless, faithless in the in*nermost 
depths of her heart ! She only accepts you, as sl>e 
buys a new gown — because it is the fashion!” She 
compressed her lips and feigned to be asleep, only 
that he would go, that she need not see the beloved 
face. 

It was almost a wonder that under such inward 
struggles she convalesced, that she again stood in the 
air and sunlight, that she saw the standard floating 
there so merrily. Miss Good-for-nothing followed every 
turn of the flag waving in the spring air, and then 
she saw over the low wall through the bare boughs 
the coachman and housemaids, who amid loud laugh- 
ter fastened an enormous wreath of flowers above the 
door, she saw Frau Roettger in person advance to 
these people to entrust to them a dainty little basket 
of flowers, probably to be a greeting of welcome in 
Therese’s boudoir! 

Slowly Julia again walked toward the house, her 
strength was exhausted. Through the sunny air now 
came the full tones of the church bells; all three 
were rung, as if announcing a great fete day, and yet 
their chime was mournful. Julia knew those tones 
— some weary mortal, but one who was classed among 
the favored ones of earth — was being laid to rest. 

With difficulty she pushed open the heavy oaken 
door and entered the dark hall, just as Frau Minna 


164 MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 

entered from the other side. The latter made no pre- 
tense of seeing the pale girl; she hastened into the 
kitchen and called to Luischen from the threshold : 
“Young Norban is just being buried. Great Lord, if 
he had at least but left some one to inherit his wealth; 
now the old mother is left alone with all the money!” 

“Yes, yes!” murmured Luischen, “if Fraulein Jul- 
chen had taken him — what a rich widow she would now 
be and how she could enjoy life — and what has she 
now?” 

Miss Good-for-nothing smiled as she* slowly ascend- 
ed the stairs. Yes, what had she now? Nothing, 
nothing at all! And yet — she had herself and the 
consciousness of having acted right, and — her grief 
for him. 

Julia did not see Fritz that day for the first time. 
He sent her up a couple of oranges and a book. She 
must excuse him for not coming to-day, he had so 
much to do. 

She sat by the window, looked at the river, counted 
the ships, gazed at the sun which set in a purple 
splendor, and said to herself: “Now they are com- 
ing.” 

Downstairs on the ground floor all was still, even 
Frau Roettger did not seem to be at home. Perhaps 
they were celebrating the betrothal to-day, perhaps 
Therese had already confessed to her father by the 
blue sea, that she loved Fritz Roettger, and asked 
him if he approved of this son-in-law. And Julia 
pictured the old man’s beaming face and fancied she 
heard his hearty laughter: “Yes, little daughter, he, 
he — for God’s sake — you have chosen well!” 

Then Therese telegraphed— to be sure, so it was — 
and now the couple clasped each other in a close em- 


SUNSHINE THAT MAKES DARK SHADOWS 1 65 

brace and Papa Krautner and Mamma Roettger shed 
tears of emotion, while Fritz kissed his betrothed. 

What a terrible palpitation of the heart suddenly 
attacked Julia! And Zrip! Zrip twittered the birds 
without, flying about their cage. On the bank of the 
Rhine Aunt Minna’s servant stood with her lover and 
mischievously sprinkled a handful of water in his face, 
when he attempted to kiss her; her merry laughter 
could be heard in the house. The couple spent the 
hour in the sunset, laughing and chatting, and when 
finally Luischen turned toward the house with the 
basket full of freshly washed spinach on her head, 
they called out another “Auf Weidersehen!” and 
soon after Julia heard the girl singing cheerily in the 
kitchen. She herself sat there, with an expression of 
the greatest languor, but still with the quiet smile 
about her lips, until the sunset glow faded away, un- 
til the door below was closed and Frau Roettger’ s 
steps ascended the stairs to die away in Aunt Riek- 
chen’s room. Then she rose and went over. Cer- 
tainty, certainty she must have, for until the last mor- 
tals believe in magic, even though they do not ac- 
knowledge it to themselves. 

She reached the door which was ajar, just in time 
to hear Frau Roettger say, “And you cannot imagine 
how happy both are; like children, Riekchen, like 
little angels, and the old man vies with his daughter 
in attention to Fritz, the wedding is to take place in 
May! Ah, God, this is indeed a gleam of sunshine 
after so long a time of trial!” 

Aunt Riekchen said softly: “I envy you, Minna, God 
knows, I envy you!” 

Miss Good-for-nothing, however, did not enter; she 
returned to her room. All was then quiet within. 


i66 


Miss good-for-nothing 


only occasionally was a sigh audible, a sigh almost of 
relief — and for the first time she slept again in the 
night. 

Certainty had come ; peace stole over her, the fixed 
peace of denial. 


CHAPTER XV. 


MISS GOOD-FOR'NOTHING ENGAGES TO LEAVE HER OLD HOME. 

One can accomplish much by means of a firm will, 
one can even become well, and Julia wanted to be 
well. At no price would she have liked to be present 
at the marriage celebration, she must leave the house 
before hand. No one opposed her determination to 
go out into the world ; circumstances had helped to 
make her presence more "good for-nothing” than ever. 

Therese’s wishes, to occupy the entire house alone, 
were not to be fulfilled. Before Herr Krautner o^ouM 
buy the property from Fraulein Riekchen Trautmann, 
another purchaser had been quietly found, in the per- 
son of Doctor Roe-ttger himself; and he could not be 
induced, as much as he loved his betrothed, to put 
his mother and aunt out of the old homestead. 

"My dearest,’' said he gravely to Therese, “mother 
and aunt will live together downstairs; mother in her 
old rooms, aunt in the three next to m^y waiting and 
consulting rooms. The door connecting them I will 
have sealed up. In this way aunt will have her own 
province and I miife adjoining. But np-stairs in the 
cozy rooms happiness will enter and remain with us. 
Up there you shall reign as a queen, shall arrange 
your kingdom according to your own taste. Below 
all will remain as it was.’’ 

No entreaties, no flattery, no pouting availed, and 
Therese deferred her victory until after the wedding. 

167 


1 68 MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 

She would yet carry out her will, she thought. 

In the old future the two sisters were to keep house 
together, and at the beginning of April Julia tried her 
scarcely regained strength for the first time and helped 
Aunt Riekchen arrange the rooms below, for up-stairs, 
masons, carpenters and laborers of all kinds were ex- 
pected, to prepare the apartments for the occupancy 
of the doctor^ s wife. No one asked Julia if she were 
not undertaking too much, only Fritz said, as he 
glanced into the room, in his hand a bouquet of 
blooming anemones, which he was taking to his 
betrothed : “Do not overtax yourself. Good-for-noth- 
ing — what will you have gained, if you are again laid 
up? Are you still taking your wine of iron.” 

She nodded absently, and he went away. 

He spent almost every leisure minute in the Kraut- 
ner villa. He avoided appearing before Julia’s eyes 
with his bride, and was more fully conscious than 
ever of the pain he had caused her — yet this consid- 
eration wounded Julia and her pride angrily rebelled 
against it. 

In the midst of the removal Herr Krautner came 
and seated himself in all the confusion quite com- 
fortably beside Aunt Riekchen on the sofa, which 
had just been placed against the wall; he watched in 
silence the way in which the pale, almost emaciated 
girl worked, in order to render it somewhat more easy 
for the old lady, so that she would not so greatly 
miss the familiar rooms. 

“Now, see here, dear sister-in-law,” he addressed 
Aunt Riekchen thus since the engagement, “Fritz told 
me lately that the little girl over there is looking for 
a situation?” 

“Yes, I am looking for one,” replied Julia. 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING LEAVES HER OLD HONE 169 

“Hm! Then this time you will not have far to 
look! Come to me, I will treat you as my own 
child! I cannot live without a soul, I must have 
someone, who will greet me pleasantly when I come 
home in the evening ; and especially, when Thereschen 
goes away — ” he blew his nose violently — “I could 
not stand it at all alone in that great house. Well, 
what do you say, Fraulein Julchen, will you come to 
me?” 

Aunt Riekchen glanced at him with surprise and 
gratitude and prepared to speak. But Julia anticipated 
her : 

‘T thank you sincerely, Herr Krautner, but with 
3 ^ou I should be spoiled and that will not do for me. 
1 must go through life independently, I will go away 
among strangers, far away.” 

“Spoiled? I spoil no one, and least of all you, 
Miss Good-for-nothing. I will not take you as an 
experiment, I want you forever, until someone takes 
you away or until I close my eyes. Nor does Alois 
Krautner desert folks in death — do you see?” 

She approached him and emotion trembled upon her 
lips. “Thank you very much,” said she, “but I c«o 
not, I accepted a position yesterday.” 

Aunt Riekchen started up “And I did not know 
it?” she cried. 

“Pardon, aunt, I should have told you to-day.” 

“Where? As what?” asked the old lady with as 
much vexation as if she were the most careful mother. 

“I have announced myself as a candidate for a course 
in sick-nursing at Cologne.” 

*'Sick nursing — you? And you did not wish to even 
nurse your own husband?” 

The girl turned pale to her lips. “I did not fear 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHiNG 


1 70 

the sick man,'* said she aloud. "Had his mother 
asked me to come to him as a nurse, I should have 
gone at once. I dreaded being chained to him by 
bonds into which one only enters when one — "she 
blushed deeply — "when one loves another devotedly 
and the love is requited. I had rather have died than 
have walked to the altar beside his invalid chair, 
I— " 

"Bravo!” cried Herr Krautner. "There she is right, 
sister in-law, and I can but assure you that all girls 
do not think thus at the present day. For the sake 
of the poor fellow’s money-bags hundreds would have 
said ‘Yes’ and would have buried their fresh youth in 
the sick-chamber, or not even that — they would have 
let him sit there alone and have amused themselves 
somewhere else. But to take up the struggle with life 
requires courage, and to nurse the sick, dear child, 
the greatest courage, have you considered that too? 
It is a difficult task!" 

"Certainly I have considered it, and very carefully,” 
she replied. "Should I,” she continued, "swell the 
army of those who seek their bread ‘as the house- 
wife’s aid,’ or should I convert into money my rrrediocre 
talent for painting? Or should I try the ’position of 
a governess, when thousands are vainly seeking sit- 
uations? I think there can not be too many nurses 
who go seriously into their work. And the more sen- 
sitive the person who approaches the sick-bed, so much 
the more beneficial will the effect be upon the sufferer. 
I think thus, and, Fritz agreed with me once — when 
— I was still helping him with his patients." 

Fraulein Riekchen said no more; she had tu<rned 
away and was gazing yearningly at a couple of pic- 
tures hanging on the wall. She did not know what it 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING tEAVES HER OLD HOME 17! 

was, but something in the girPs words struck her for 
the first time in all the years she had known the child, 
and reminded her of her father. It was probably the 
way of expressing herself or else her gestures. The 
girl had never talked so much either. 

"Well,” said Herr Krautner, rising, "all respect to 
your decision ! If, however, it proves to be more ar- 
duous than you thought it would be, if your strength 
proves insuffircient, then, little girl, then, you must re- 
member where old Krautner lives — give me your hand 
upon it! And if I am ever ill, no one else shall tend 
me! Well, my prayers have been in vain. Adieu!” 

Julia went about her work and Fraulein Riekchen 
watched her, but neither spoke. Only when at length 
Julia sat exhausted at the window and the room looked 
quite home-like, for the girl had managed to hang 
every picture as nearly as possible in the same place 
as it had hung up-stairs, this question fell upon her 
ears: "When have you to be at Cologne?” 

"On the fifteenth of May, aunt.” 

"Can you not remain here to the wedding? It is 
to be on the twentieth!” 

"No, aunt; I am sorry, but I can not,” answered 
the girl. 

Then she rose hastily and went out. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


NATURE AND LOVE SMILED. 

But six days until Therese^s and the doctor’s wed- 
ding, Julia’s last day in her home! 

Already a holiday air reigned in the old house. 
The workmen’s noise had subsided, the servants from 
the Krautner’s villa, as well as the servants of the 
future man and wife had cleared away their last traces, 
and as bright as a jewel-case the upper floor awaited 
its young mistress. 

The grandeur indeed began below in the hall. The 
venerable flagging of red brick which for years had 
announced to the occupants the changes in the weather 
— a few days before a rain-storm it was already damp 
— had disappeared and a dazzling mosaic of black and 
white marble had taken its place, so gleaming and 
smooth, that Frau Roettger slipped about on it like 
a skater, who tries to skate for the first time. Over 
it was stretched as far as the stairs, prettily plaited 
straw matting, and every now and then against the ar- 
tistically decorated walls stood old German carved 
benches; the window on the landing no longer simply 
admitted the daylight — which gleamed bright with 
many colors through the small panes covered with 
arms, and the sunbeams played in glowing lights upon 
the soft carpet which covered the dark stairs. 

Frau Roettger was struck dumb with admiration, 
everything too looked so fine. She had only one trial — 

172 


NATURE AND LOVE SMILED 


173 


her stubborn son would not allow his waiting and con- 
sulting rooms to be furnished with such luxury. He 
said he felt at home with the comfortable, old-fash- 
ioned furniture, and he did not want a half penny 
spent for stylish furniture for himself j he hoped and 
believed too, that his patients would miss nothing of 
the kind. 

His mother submitted with a sigh ; she was disap- 
pointed in not finding, as she had hoped, an ally in 
Therese. "Ah, he may keep that, as he likes," said 
she to her mother-in-law, "if it is good enough for 
him, it is all right for me." 

On this day a perfect sea of blossoms smiled upon 
the earth. In the afternoon Therese gave her last 
coffee before her marriage. Julia had declined, she 
was busy packing; at this particular moment, she was 
seated up-stairs in her little attic-chamber, painting. 
The last stroke of the brush had yet to be put on a 
large majolica plaque which she was making for a 
wedding present. 

Nothing about her betrayed that she had spent here 
the few bright hours of her life; she had swept away 
the most trifling signs. When she now packed colors 
and palette with the other materials in the box, no 
trace of her remained — could she only have eradicated 
those traces which had been impressed upon her on 
just as sunny a May day — on the preceding year. 

She laid aside her brush and examined her work. 
Upon the yellowish background of the plaque was 
painted a gnarled branch with fading leaves, it lay 
there as if it could be carried away, as if it were real; 
below was — simply sketched in water, a broad bound- 
less expanse, behind which the sun was sinking and 
over which a flock of birds were fleeing from the win- 


174 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


ter. That was all, and yet in this little lay the yearn- 
ing of a heart seeking sunshine and love as the feath- 
ered tribe seek a warmer land. 

It had occurred unconsciously, she had sought to 
think of nothing but that she should paint no subject 
which could betray her grief, her love, and now the 
tiny sketch spoke all too plainly. 

She rose, and carrying her work carefully, left the 
room; she knew a place for it in the young couple’s 
dining-room and she intended to hang it up there as a 
last, silent greeting. The elegant apartment would 
now be entirely deserted, she felt sure of that, for it 
was time for the noon siesta. She had secretly ex- 
tricated the key to the hall door from the key-basket 
of Aunt Minna who for the moment was still guardian 
of all this grandeur, and so she entered the rooms, 
which were shortly to harbor young, golden, human 
bliss. 

She drd not pause to examine minutely the sump 
tuousness of the chambers, but went at once to the 
dining-room there to find a place for her gift. It was the 
same room in which once little Frieder Adami had lived ; 
it seemed to have been made for a cozy dining-room 
with its raftered ceiling, its wainscoted walls and deep 
window niches, as unrecognizable indeed as the old 
hall below. The wainscoting was richly carved, the 
unwainscoted part of the walls were covered with a 
costly tapestry, and the gigantic old stove had had 
to give place to an antique fire-place, before whose 
leaping flames it would be so cozy to sit in winter. 
In the center of the room, where once had stood the 
boy’s work table, was the massive, heavy, oak table 
surrounded by high-backed chairs covered with leather. 
Upon the shelving of the wainscoting, upon the man- 


NATURE AND LOVE SMILED 


175 


tel-piece, over which was an immense mirror, stood all 
sorts of costly ornaments. Indeed this room looked 
so elegant that a stmple dinner would blush, so to 
speak, to be served and eaten here. 

Julia took from the pocket of her apron a bronze nail 
and a hammer and fastened the present over the buffet 
whose majolica surface accorded well with the plate ; 
now a bronzed palm-leaf behind it and the simple bec- 
oration was complete. She stepped back to the near- 
est window in order to see the effect from this point ; 
while her eyes were fixed upon the plate, they became 
suddenly vacant, staring. As if exhausted she sank 
upon one of the chest-like seats in the deep window- 
niches. It was so strangely quiet up there, even the 
pendulum of the costly clock swung in a soft, ghostly 
manner. It suddenly seemed to the girl as if the 
shades of the future were wandering about. 

Will happiness dwell here — will it — will it? ticked , 
the clock. And Miss Good-for-nothing shook her 
head and clasped her hands — she could not believe 
it. Then she saw close to her in one of the small 
window-panes, which the decorator had magnani- 
mously left here, because it belonged to the character 
of the room, a heart, artistically cut, and under it the 
letters F. A. — T. K. 

Frieder must have done that! Infinite bitterness, 
anger, contempt unparalleled rose in the girl’s soul 
— could she only once hold a mirror before the face 
of the faithless one, a mirror whioh would expose her 
hypocritical face! 

The girl mechanically passed her slender fingers 
over the tiny heart, as if they could blot it off the glass 
■ — in vain, it was too deeply engraved. 

“Good Heaven,” suddenly cried a clear voice beside 


176 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


her, it is enough to scare one to death — how came you 
here?” 

Julia rose quickly. 

"Pardon,” said she with an effort, "I had something 
to do here.” 

"What have you painted on the window?" asked 
Therese, bending her fair head; suddenly she started 
back, and her eyes from the pale face looked angrily 
up into Julia’s. 

Since Therese knew that the secret of her engage- 
ment to Frieder was guarded by Julia, since she knew 
that the girl would leave the house, she had been less 
anxious. Julia had herself looked upon the "folly” as 
a bagatelle; of Frieder’s presence and of the circum- 
stances connected with it she could suspect nothing — 
what did these threatening, reproachful eyes mean 
now? 

"It was Frieder* s room," said Julia hoarsely. 

Therese made no reply. 

"And that heart he probably carved there, when you 
pledged your faith; it will soon be a year.” 

"What are you talking about it to-day for?” asked 
Therese angrily. "Do you intend to bring up the affair 
as a nuptials’-eve jest? I have seen for a long time 
that you had something against me." 

"I— shall not be here on your nuptials’ eve, you 
know, and I never looked upon the sad affair as a jest," 
replied Miss Good-for-nothing calmly. "On the con- 
trary, I wish you as much happiness as there is in the 
world, for yonr happiness is to be henceforth the hap- 
iness of a brave man and peace his. And were 
I to find thlit you were really happy together, I be- 
lieve, then — then I could forgive you a great deal.” 

The pretty girl’s color returned to her cheeks. No, 


NATURE AND LOVE SMILED 


177 


this Miss Good-for-nothing would never repeat the 
stupid story of their engagement, out of consideration 
for hint. This thing with the beggarly pride was, as 
Frau Roettger had betrayed, over head and ears in 
love with the doctor! And Therese smiled like the 
May day without. 

"Let his happiness if you please, be my care, if I 
do interpret what they call happiness in another sense 
from what you do. Believe me, he will not fall short, 
we will tolerate each other, without your blessing 
too! When are you going away?" 

"To-morrow!” was the curt response. 

"Well, then probably we shall not meet again. Fare- 
well ! I wish you happiness in your future life, as 
sincerely as you wish it to me. " 

"Farewell, Therese; I hope that In years to come 
we shall meet again as friends." 

"Well," said Therese somewhat ironically, "I really 
do not know what could make me your enemy." 

Julia was silent. "I believe I could hate furiously,” 
said she then softly, and her eyes again wandered to 
ward the window-pane. 

Then she was pushed aside, and the next moment 
the remnants of the broken pane fell upon the flag- 
ging of the court. "Now?” asked Therese’s trembling 
voice, "Are you satisfied?” 

Julia shrugged her shoulders somewhat. "What 
does it matter about the innocent glass? Ah, if one 
could obliterate the other things from the world so 
easily?" She turned and passed through the door. 

"Were she but gone!" murmured Therese gloomily, 
looking after the departing form with angry eyes. 
Then a roguish smile flitted across her pretty face, 
the doctor stood upon the threshold, 


178 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“Broken glass? To-day?” cried he gayly. 

She laughed. “I clumsily broke a pane. But does 
it not bring luck?” 

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked tenderly, draw- 
ing her to him. 

She smiled up at him. “No, no! Is it not cozy 
here, is it not delightful?” 

He nodded, but did not look around, he looked 
only in her beloved face. “I can still scarcely realize 
that you want to be mine,” he whispered. “But come 
— this is the Paradise as yet forbidden me; come, that 
we do not provoke the gods.” 


CHAPTER XVIL 


DESTINY MAKES STRANGE SPORT. 

The May night crept on apace. For the last time 
Miss Good-for-nothing looked out into the blooming 
garden, in which she had played her modest childish 
games; to-morrow she would be at her duties perhaps 
she would have to stand by a death-bed. She did not 
fear the future; she wanted only work, a great deal 
of work, no idleness, which awakens memories and 
does not permit the wounds of the soul to heal. 

She would have preferred not to have slept at all, 
but would have liked early in the morning to take the 
first ship and to go away without bidding anyone good- 
bye. How she dreaded this parting, which was 
synonymous with the loss of youth and happiness ! 

Quite softly she closed the window, that her aunt 
in the adjoining room might not be disturbed, the 
strange old lady, who had ’ never had a kind word, a 
tender caress for her and to whom, nevertheless, she 
owed gratitude, for she had taken the defenseless 
child under her roof, had fed, clothed and sent her to 
school. 

Was she not calling? Miss Good-for-nothing lis- 
tened in affright. No, that was no call, it was a low 
moan. The next moment the young girl stood at her 
aunt’s bedside, and the hastily-lighted candle showed 
her the distorted face of the unconscious woman. 

She flew through the hall, passed through the wait- 
179 


l8o MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 

ing and sitting-room and with her tiny hand knocked 
at the doctor’s door. “Fritz, Fritz, aunt is dying 1“ 

Then she awoke Frau Roettger and the next moment 
was again with the sufferer, supporting the sick wo- 
man who breathed and talked with difficulty, in her 
young, strong arms. 

“A severe stroke of paralysis. Good-for-nothing,” 
said the doctor sadly, after having examined the in- 
valid and having helped her as much as he could. 
They stood together in the dark sitting-room in front 
of the sick room, and the cool May breeze was wafted 
past them. Frau Roettger had remained at her sis- 
ter’s bedside. 

“You can make up your mind in all possibility to a 
long, trying time of sick-nursing, poor little Good- 
for-nothing,” continued the doctor. 

She started, she longed to cry out: “It is impossi- 
ble, I dare not remain here!” but hastily she again 
lowered her head; yes, to be sure — she was the near- 
est to her — she — who else should nurse the solitary, 
embittered woman? And yet — Be merciful! Ah, be 
merciful!” she murmured. 

He did not understand. “Perhaps she — perhaps you 
will soon be released, perhaps a second stroke will 
put an end to her miserable life, but perhaps too she 
will live on, a helpless, crippled woman, who can not 
do without you.” 

“I know! I know!” she cried, “Please do not say 
any more, I will remain.” 

He pressed her hand and returned to the sufferer. 

Then Frau Roettger came out, weeping and lament- 
ing. “That was just lacking— possibly she will die 
on the nuptials’ eve, and if she lives, she will be so 
ill that for decency’s sake Fritz will have to give up 


DESTINY MAKES STRANGE SfORT l8l 

his wedding-tour! No, that is just our luck. Tele- 
graph to Cologne at once, you have enough to do here, 
with my limbs I can no longer lift and attend to a 
sick person. Ah God, and such an affliction had to 
come just now!" 

Julia did not heed the agitated woman^s lamenta- 
tions; she went about her duties, and when morning 
dawned, she thought she saw in her aunt’s fixed eyes 
awakening intelligence, and she answered her anxious, 
indistinct stammering with these words uttered in a 
ioud voice, and accompanied by a gentle caress upon 
her cheek; “Be calm, auntie, I will sta}^ with you — 
do you know me? Julia! Be calm!” 

As she spoke a shimmer of relief flitted over the 
distorted features. The next day no change had taken 
place in Aunt Rieckhen’s condition, but on the 
nuptials’ eve she was already able to move her para- 
lyzed arm a little. 

Therese on this day would not allow herself to be 
saddened, and although at first Fritz would not listen 
to anything about music and a ball, she coaxed his 
consent by her sweet entreaties. “Eh, Fritz, let us 
dance together once more as merry spring lambkins, 
afterward dancing and playing will be over, father 
says. And from to-morrow I belong to you, Fritz, but 
to-day — to-day-—” 

He again visited his aunt’s apartments before he 
went to his betrothed’s house on the night preceding 
the wedding-day. Without, the sun was setting be- 
hind a mountain of clouds, and in the dim twilight 
Julia sat silently in the old-fashioned arm-chair at the 
window. Her head was resting against the cushions, 
her eyes were closed and she did not see the ni^an un- 
til he stood directly before her. Her startled glance 


i 82 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


took in his festal dress — he wore a frock coat and held 
a silk hat in his hand — and her lips were firmly com- 
pressed. 

“I only wanted to ask you, Julia,” said he "to close 
the windows in the sickroom, that the music may not 
disturb — I should have preferred a quiet celebration, 
but I do not want to spoil Therese’s enjoyment of her 
last girlhood’s days; she has, however, willingly giv- 
en up the wedding-trip.” 

"And why will you not travel?” she asked. "Every- 
thing is doing nicely. I am here, and Uncle Doctor 
would have come if there had been a change for the 
worse. ” 

He looked at her keenly; sh« had the old, sorrow- 
ful expression about her mouth. 

She blushed a deep crimson. "Ah, pardon,” she 
stammered, "I am only sorry you have given up your 
trip for aunt’s sake. Moreover — what is it to me!'” 

She turned away, ashamed and vOxed with herself — 
he must have divined, how difficult it was to see his 
new-born happiness in the house. "Go comfortably,” 
she then added, "I will attend to everything here.” 
And when he was gone, she closed the windows of the 
sick-room, but those of the anteroom she opened wide, 
and there with a strange agony she sat the whole night 
through and listened to the dance strains, which could 
be heard so plainly, to the laughter and cheers and 
she was still sitting there when mother and son re- 
turned home at dawn, "Steeling herself” she called it 
with a bitter smile. 

Nor the next day did she leave the sick-chamber, 
when the newly-wedded pair stepped respectfully to 
the bedside, of- Aunt Riekchen, who had regained con- 
sciousness. She stood at the foot of the bed and 


DESTINY MAKES STRANGE SPORT 


183 


gazed with wide-open eyes at the bride who was al- 
most peerless enveloped in whitte satin and lace, so 
charming in her pallor and the golden hair, which 
shimmered beneath the white fragrance of the veil. 
The beautiful woman bent over the invalid and kissed 
her nerveless hand. Then the newly-wedded pair pre- 
pared to go. The doctor did not look up. He did 
not seem to have noticed the pale girl standing proudly 
erect at the foot of the bed. Silently he laid Therese’s 
hand upon his arm, nor did she turn her head. 

Then Miss Good for-nothing stepped in their way. 

‘ Accept my congratulations,” said she imploringly, 
extending her hand first to him and then to his young 
wife. With hesitation Therese touched the proffered 
hand, then the lace trimmed long train rustled over 
the threshold of the sick-room. And the house became 
quiet, unnaturally quiet, for the celebration in honor 
of th-e marriage was held at the ‘‘Goldenen Traube,” 
and even the servants were there, to help or to look 
on. 

Julia sat by her aunt’s bed. Slowly, slowl}^ night 
fell; the full moon arose behind the high trees. The 
invalid was asleep and still no one came home. 

Julia rose; she passed through the hall to see if the 
front door was locked. They were to return through 
the garden; the door leading thither was wide open; 
a strip of moonlight fell upon the marble flagging and 
plainly lighted up the flowers which had that morning 
been strewn there. She passed through the door and 
inhaled the perfumed air — which was as sultry as if a 
storm were brewing; on the other side of the Rhine 
the lightening played vividly, but the nightingales 
sang loudly in the gardens. 

Then the small iron gate below opened and shut, 


184 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


and Julia saw something light, white, ascend the stairs, 
as if rising from the water, as dainty as a floating 
elfinveil — the young couple were going home. 

Julia turned, fled across the hall into the sick-room 
and seated herself again by the sleeping woman’s bed- 
side. How the hours passed she did not know — shiv- 
ering with cold, her aching head upon the bed at the 
feet of the old lady; in this position she found her- 
self the next morning. 

What leaden heaviness in every limb and what an 
oppressive sensation in her breast — what had hap- 
pened? 

She rose and put her hands to her throbbing tem- 
ples when her eyes fell upon a tiny spring of myrtle, 
which lay in front of the bed ; it must have become 
loosened from the bridal wreath, when Therese kneeled 
there. 

Ah yes, they were man and wife! 

Miss Good-for-nothing went to her room, cooled 
her face with fresh water and opened the window! A 
dismal, rainy day, the air wonderfully soft and sweet. 
The spring wealth of blossoms gone ! 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


A CONJUGAL TETE-A'TETE. 

Two years had passed. 

Frau Riekchen Trautmann proved to have a strong 
constituticMi; she talked again, was fully conscious, 
but of course, she was paralyzed. Julia had to dress 
her and tend her like a little child. 

“She does everything so conscientiously,” said the 
old lady to her nephew, "but as silently and fixedly, 
as I fancy the slave of an Oriental prince would be — 
not a trace of friendliness, not a trace of that which 
is true balm for such a poor Lazarus, as I am — of 
love — ” 

It was on a warm day in the beginning of August 
when she complained thus. 

The young doctor, who had just returned from his 
visits, look*ed at her in surprise, as if he had first to 
collect his wandering thoughts. “You desire to reap 
love, but you have sown no love in this heart,” said 
he cal*mly. Over the sunken face before him flitted a 
bright flush. “Well, and you have news of Frieder?” 
said he, “I heard of it from my mother who informed 
Therese. Is he well?” 

“Thank God, yes! Will you not take the letter up 
with you? It is very interesting; perhaps Therese too 
would like to read it. But now go — she surely is 
awaiting you for breakfast. Have you seen your boy 
to-day?” 


185 


1 86 MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 

“Yes!” said he, and his face beamed. “Frau Doris 
is walking in the garden with him." He took the 
letter which lay upon the table, rather from courtesy 
than curiosity, and withdrew. When he had hastily 
changed his clothes, he entered his wife^s boudoir; 
she was not there — she must surely be in her dress- 
ing-room. Right ! Therese had obtained a new cos- 
tume from her papa, which was as if for a traveling 
dress, and was trying it on. With a smile she turned 
her rosy face toward him. 

“Well, how are your two dangerously-ill patients?" 
she cried. “Will they allow us to go?” 

“I cannot give you a decisive answer to-day, dar- 
ling," he answered, casting a glance of admiration at 
her in her becoming attire. “A few days make no dif- 
ference, do they?" 

“Oh, if you please ! Anyone would know that you 
have never traveled,” she replied quickly. "Does it 
make any difference? It is now the height of the sea- 
son at Ostende— a few weeks later and our three 
weeks’ stay will extend into September, and, you 
know, in September all those go there who wish to 
live economically, but not one single person of dis- 
tinction, not one single lady of the upper class; one 
sees no more toilettes, the meals are poor, in short, 
it is horrible!" 

“Poor darling!" he comforted smiling, “Indeed, I 
fear, these two invalids will seriously interfere with 
our plans.” 

“You can say that with such composure?” she asked, 
tying two heavy grey faille ribbons on the silk trav- 
eling cloak, which he helped her to put on. 

“What shall I do? I can s^Urely not tear out my 
hair on that account?" 


A CONJUGAL TETE-A-TETE 


187 


"There is some truth in the fact that you doctors 
are the slaves of mankind,’’ said she very slowly — 
"and that one — ’’ 

"If one marries a doctor, one becomes a sort of 
slave,’’ he completed. "Well, at any rate you are 
quite a charming little slave, and I am indescribably 
sorry that possibly this beautiful costume will have 
to be satisfied with being displayed to the admiring 
world on a Rhine steamer.’’ He sighed comically. 
"Yes, truly, little wife, those two are in a critical con- 
dition; God knows, when we can take our trip.’’ 

She did not say a word; she tied and untied her 
ribbons, as she did so humming softly to herself. 
At length the knot seemed satisfactory; with her slen- 
der fingers she picked off a tendril, slowly undid the 
ribbons, took off the cloak, changed her new dress for 
a dainty house-robe, singing as she did so and evad- 
ing the kiss which he tried to press upon her pretty, 
white arm. When she had finished, she said: "Now 
we will breakfast!” 

"You always think of the right thing!” he cried. 

As they sat facing each other in the cool dining- 
room, she remarked : "You will not suffer, if I go 
alone with papa . . just taste this lamb cutlet and 
these fried potatoes, Susanne prepared them herself. ” 

He laid down his knife and fork and looked in per- 
plexity at his bewitching vis-d-vis, 

"You can come when you have time, later on,” she 
added, putting a golden-brown slice of potato be- 
tween her lips. 

"Are you in earnest?” 

"Yes, of course! You may be a slave as much as 
you like, 7 am obliged— what do I care for strangers 
with typhus fever?” 


i88 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


"It will be very lonesome here for the boy and me/’ 
said he finally. 

"But for heaven’s sake, Fritz, do you think I will 
leave the child heref No, the boy too will go with 
his nurse Doris to Ostende." 

"No, dearest, the boy will remain in the country 
with his nurse Doris, and will continue to take the 
milk given by the black and brown cow, who is being 
especially fed for him at the ‘Gelben Hofe.’ ” 

Frau Therese now laid down her knife and fork and 
stared at her husband, surprised and curious at the 
unusual opposition. "There is fine milk to be ob- 
tained at Ostende,” said she dryly; "moroever, we 
will take the new sterilizer with us, by means of which 
any milk can be rendered harmless. All mothers take 
their children with them— and I »hall not go away 
without the child!" 

"Still yo.u will have to make up your mind to do so, 
if you do not want to remain here, for under no con- 
ditions will I permit you to expose the child to the 
dangers with which an entirely different mode of life 
is impregnated for so young a babe." 

"But dearest, you act as if the boy belonged to you 
alone,” sbe answered with the greatest composure. 
"Only think, mothers have the first claim upon their 
children! What would become of him without me?" 

He laughed involuntarily. "You act as if you were 
in the habit of never losing sight of the little fellow 
for a minute, and yet Doris takes the entire charge of 
him. Besides I am here to care for him and I need 
not assure you, that during your absence I will watch 
over him doubly.” 

"And if you had gone too?" 

"There are three grown women in the hoirse, ’’ he 


A CONJUGAL TETE-A-TETE 189 

returned, still midway between being amused and 
vexed. "Firstly there is the grandmother,” he con- 
tinued, "who would wear out her soles to see the lit- 
tle fellow as often as possible — ” 

"Your mother may see him as often as she likes, 
but I do not want her to interfere with his training or 
with Doris’ care of him, as she is so fond of doing, 
and as she of course will do when I am gone. She 
has not yet forgiven me for not using the swaddling 
clothes three yards long which belonged to you, and 
she cannot understand why I do not put a wadded cap 
on the poor child’s head on the finest summer days 
as soon as he is taken into the garden.” 

"Ah, Therese, I have explained all that to her. She, 
however, loves the boy tenderly and — ” 

"Well, and as second protectress there is Aunt 
Riekchen, who needs a nurse herself?” 

"Yes, we will leave Aunt Riekchen out of the ques- 
tion, but do not forget Julia!” 

Now Frau Therese’s eyes glowed. "I must request 
you emphatically, to consider Julia in this matter as 
not existing at all!” she cried. "I have reason to be- 
lieve that she can not bear me; nor does she like my 
child — ” 

"Therese, you are unjust!” 

"No,” replied the agitated woman, "I am not! If 
you did not feel for her the absurd, sentimental com- 
passion which in their innermost souls men always 
feel for those by whom they think they are loved, you 
would long since have noticed with what a feeling of 
dislike this Miss Good-for-nothing regards me and the 
child. She actually looks down upon me.” 

"Because you are a head shorter than she is,” said 
he with composure. 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


190 

"I am not joking!” she exclaimed. “When I make 
a remark, Fraulein Julia’s lips curl contemptuously ; if 
I play with the child, I see her dark eyes fixed so 
strangely upon me — I cannot tell you how — almost 
hungrily; she grudges me the boy. And when we are 
all three together, she turns and goes into her room, 
as if the sight of us were poison to her. She has an 
odd, envious disposition !" 

“Who told you she once loved me?” he asked calmly, 
and his eyes looked past her to the majolica plaque, 
which Julia had pain^ted for their wedding-present. 
"My own, little bit of sense. Doctor, and your mother. ” 

“Is that so?” 

“And that you are still deeply touched by the fact, 
my own sense and my own eyes tell me.” 

“Is that so?" 

He suddenly cleared his throat, poured out a glass 
of wine and said in a loud voice: “Well, it is settled, 
the boy remains here under my and Frau Doris’ care.” 

She looked at him keenly. But as she saw nothing 
but a determined expression which would scarcely ad- 
mit of any opposition, she began to peel a peach and 
remarked : 

“I suppose I must be the more sensible of the two 
and yield.” 

“In that you do well, little woman!” 

“Are you not pleased that I am not at all jealous of 
— this Julia?” she asked, handing him half of the fruit 
with a smile. 

“I do not see anything to be pleased about, it is 
only as it should be,” he answered. “I should at the 
most be pleased that she is not jealous. You know, 
that beside you, no other image can find a place in my 
heart, of course, excepting our boy.” 


A CONJUGAL TETE-A‘TETE 


I9I 

She had arisen and advanced to press a kiss upon 
his brow. “You are, nevertheless, a kind, silly, old 
husband,” said she. 

He held her fast and drew her upon his knee. “I 
hope your heart is fashioned like mine,” he jested, 
“that it has likewise only one small chamber in which 
my boy and I can just find room.” 

She threw back her fair head. “And if it were not 
so?” she whispered, her blue eyes sparkling with co- 
quetry. 

“Therese, you should not jest about that!” 

“No, no, come!” said she, “what would you do, tell 
me, were you to find, that another man besides you — ” 

He did not reply, for a second he seemed to fancy 
himself in that position, and the young wife was 
startled, so ghastly were his features, so fixed his 
eyes. 

“For God’s sake!” cried she. “It was only a jest, 
Fritz!” And she shook him by the shoulder, herself 
pale. 

“What would I do?” he said in a moody voice. “I 
do not know, the time would inspire me, but — I can 
understand a murder from jealousy.” 

She rose; she felt chilly. 

He now sought to soothe her. “You silly, little 
woman, that comes from your ridiculous questions. 
Why talk of things which lie outside the range of the 
possible? Come, take a swallow of wine and go to 
papa, tell him I entrust to him for a holiday my most 
precious possession. And go soon, that you may 
speedily return!” 

He kissed her once more and went down stairs. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


BAD NEWS. 

Julia sat beside Aunt Riekchen’s rolling-chair un- 
der the nut-tree in the garden. The old lady gazed 
dreamily before her, while Julia read the paper aloud. 
Frau Roettger was cutting up beans, without remov- 
ing her eyes from the perambulator, which Frau Doris 
was pushing up and down in the shady vine-arbor by 
the wall. The noise of the old woman who addressed 
the little fellow in all manner of unintelligible, tender 
expressions, could be heard where they were sitting. 

Frau Roettger’s face expressed displeasure and mis- 
trust ; that of the old nurse riesembled an angry lion- 
ess, from whom they wish to take her young. Frau 
Therese had yesterday started on her journey, and 
already that very morning the grandmother and Doris 
had disagreed at the bedside of the slumbering, little 
prodigy, and the doctor h^d scarcely been able to 
soothe their excited souls. 

Julia's deep, melodious voice was suddenly inter- 
rupted by Frau Minna’s shrill tones: "Take him this 
minute out of the hot sun? Do you want the little 
fellow to get a sun-stroke?" 

The nurse pretended not to hear, and talked calmly 
on with her charge: “Eh, my heart, eh, do you like 
the sun? The good, beautiful sun! ’ 

“The woman must leave the house, or I will have 
an apoplectic seizure!" stammered the old lady. 

193 


BAD NEWS 


193 


Julia let the paper fall, during the intermezzo, and 
then read the close of a law-matter. 

"See if there is anything about Africa!” said Aunt 
Riekchen. 

'I have looked, aunt, but I found nothing,” the 
young girl replied. 

"Not among the telegraphic news?” 

Julia looked through the dispatches — Paris — Lon- 
don — Madrid. "Zanzibar,” she murmured. Suddenly 
she held the large sheet of paper before her face, 
while the sheet trembled in her hand. 

"Why do you tremble?” asked the old lad}^ 

Slowly the sheet sank; the girPs pale but composed 
features were again visible. "Did I tremble?” she 
asked. “There is nothing about Africa.” 

At that moment Frau Roettger rushed away to tell 
the hated nurse her opinion to her face. 

Aunt Riekchen looked sharply at her adopted 
daughter. 

"Shall I read on?” asked Julia — there was a pecu- 
liar, changed accent in her voice. 

"Is there really nothing new from Africa?” 

Julia shook her head and looked toward the doctor, 
who was returning from his professional calls in the 
glowing August sun, in a light, gray summer suit, a 
straw hat in his hand, wiping his forhead with his 
handkerchief. She drew back behind the old lady^s 
chair, looked at him who was advancing and laid her 
finger upon her lips. 

The doctor approached calmly, seated himself and be- 
gan to talk of indifferent things. Julia walked to meet 
Frau Roettger who was returning with head proudly 
erect in the consciousness of her superiority as victor 
and as grandmother. 


194 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


"I should like to tell you something, aunt; please, 
come with me a moment, ’ said Julia. “I have just 
read in the newspaper, that Frieder has been wounded 
in a fight with the natives; Aunt Riekchen must not 
find it out!” 

The old lady clasped her hands. “Severely wounded 
of course,” she exclaimed. ‘And probably the truth 
of it is, that he is already dead. Great God!” 

Julia was silent. 

“And you,” continued Frau Roettger, “you stand 
there and do not say a word? What kind of a girl are 
you! It is your own brother who is hurt. I never 
could bear the brother, but I feel sorry to have him 
punished thus, to have to die away from home so mis- 
erably among savages, without a soul belonging to 
him.” 

Julia did not reply to the reproach. “Please, do not 
make aunt uneasy,” she replied. “You had better not 
join her now, she is so observant and so suspicious, 
she would see at once that something had happened.” 

“I am as clever as that too," replied the old lady, 
“I do not care to see the poor thing either. Go, fetch 
the paper and bring it to me in the kitchen, I want to 
read it.” 

“Yes, yes,” said she to herself as she walked on, 
“either he will die or he will come back an invalid 
and live on us. God in heaven forgive me — I wish he 
had been killed outright!” 

After dinner, when the old lady unsuspectingly slept 
in her cool apartment, Julia sat in her room at the 
window, her hands motionless in her lap, and the 
newspaper which contained the short, important news, 
before her. Not one feature of her face was changed, 
only the small mouth was still more firmly compressed. 


BAD NEWS 


195 


It had come. Julia long since realized that no lamen-- 
tation and struggle could avert the blow of fate, and 
a sort of rigidity lay over her own feelings; she only 
felt in the souls of others. 

She pondered upon the fact that the news of the 
wounding or perhaps the death of the old lady’s pet 
would prove like a dagger blow to which she would 
succumb; she thought perhaps Frieder had sought 
death, because he could not forget Therese, and- that 
she would be entirely alone, if she no longer had a 
brother. For how much of a stranger was she in the 
midst of these people in whose society she had spent 
her life! Even to the invalid she was bound only 
by duty, by pity; she returned by the care which she 
bestowed upon the aging woman, the care which the 
latter had devoted to her neglected youth. But she 
had never been able to feel any deoper sensation for 
the old lady. 

And Fritz? 

In his presence she had with an effort quieted her 
heart’s pulsations; to him she was indifferent and 
cold, and only a faint sense of anger arose within her 
when he seemed inclined to pity her. This too she 
concealed. Outwardly there was simply a contempt- 
uous quiver about her mouth, when Fritz, especially 
when first married, sought to hide his affection, his 
happiness in her presence; when on her joining them 
he dropped his young wife’s hand which he had just 
pressed to his lips, or when with an effort he sought 
to remove his eyes from her glowing face. 

She smiled with the same severe quiver about the 
corners of her mouth, and she smiled likewise when 
he tried to hide from her his anxiety with regard to 
his beloved wife, before the birth of their son. But 


196 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


his pale face upon which the beads of perspiration 
stood during those hours which preceded that birth, 
was to her like a revelation. How the woman must 
be loved! And the tears on his lashes, the tears with 
which he announced the important event to the old 
lady, the trembling joy, the grateful jubilee re-awak- 
ened within her the one thought: how the woman 
must be loved! 

"Show me your child, Fritz!" she had said and she 
ascended with him to the sumptuous apartments, and 
he brought forth the bundle with the new-born and 
let her look at the tiny creature. Over the child’s head 
their eyes met. 

Miss Good-for-nothing did not know that she gazed 
at the man with an expression which made his glad 
heart ache. At this moment the quiet, proud maiden 
seemed to him like a shivering, starving beggar-child, 
who with feverish longing looks into a lighted room 
at Christmas time and in the magnificence she sees 
there, forgets how poor she is. In her deep dark eyes 
was an expression of blissful delight at the sight of 
the tiny, slumbering creature. "Ah, how sweet!" she 
murmured, extending her arms. Then Therese in a 
faint voice called from the adjoining room, and Julia’s 
arms fell, her long lashes sank lower over her eyes. 

The child was taken from him; he accompanied 
JuUa to the door, her heart filled with bliss and com- 
passion, and then he said to the girl with a lack of 
tact as he stroked her cheek: "Will you not be happy 
too. Good-for-nothing!" 

The icy expression about her mouth, the hasty rap 
upon his hand and the scornful glance, caused him to 
cease speaking suddenly. Since then she had neither 
asked for the child, nor even looked at it when it was 
carried past her. 


BAD NEWS 


197 


She did not love the child? So at least thought 
those in the house. 

"He who does not like children, has no heart!” said 
Frau Roettger to her, adding in surprise: "And the 
silly little boy laughs at you notwithstanding and cries: 
‘Ulal’ Such innocence!” 

They did not suspect that the child and "Ula” had 
concluded a secret friendship, that the old dragon of 
a nurse entrusted the child without any objection to 
the quiet, lonely girl. These two had a firmly-rooted 
alliance; especially when the young mistress and Frau 
Roettger were invited to tea or coffee, the doctor was 
making professional calls and Aunt Riekchen had fallen 
asleep. Then Julia flew upstairs, kneeled beside the 
bed, played with the boy and patiently allowed the 
clumsy, fat little hands to pull her hair. She taught 
him his first, little tricks, she taught him to say 
"Papa.” Then she pressed the tiny form to her with 
passionate tenderness. 

"Oh,” she murmured, "I could die for you!” 

"Leave the boy to me altogether!” scolded the old 
woman who usually sat at the window and knit stock- 
ings for the child, "and do you live; he needs a kind 
aunt with such a mother.” 

Frau Doris could not conceal her aversion for the 
mother and grandmother. 

Julia never replied to such remarks, and at the 
slightest sound she disappeared from the cozy nursery. 

Once she could not escape and with a throbbing 
heart she took refuge behind the curtain, which served 
Frau Doris in the place of a wardrobe; and there with 
closed eyes and compressed lips she was forced t-o 
listen to all the tenderness which the father lavished 
upon his darling. How soft his voice sounded! Julia 


igS MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 

was familiar with that accent, he had addressed her 
thus not long since ! She felt as if she could not lis- 
ten to it, as if she must cry out with pain, if he did 
not cease. God be praised, he was called away, and 
she could escape. 

Suddenly Julia started from her reverie — the clock 
in the adjoining room had struck the hour at which she 
was in the habit of paying her visit to Frau Doris. 
Hastily she rose and ascended to the nursery, but 
nurse and charge were asleep, the old woman in her chair 
and the child in his cradle. Julia kneeled beside the 
little bed and gazed her fill. Then she rose and with 
an anxious air sought to reach the door, but this time 
she did not succeed in making good her escape. The 
.doctor stood before her and looked at her with aston- 
ished eyes. 

“You here?” he asked. And he thought of his wife’s 
remark that Julia hated the child. 

“Excuse me!” she said defiantly, seeking to pass 
him. 

“Wait a moment!” said he calmly, “I was looking 
for you^a dispatch has arrived from Frieder. At his 
request he has been put on board of one of our men- 
of-war which is soon to return to Germany. That is 
the laconic contents of the telegram which I received 
through the medium of the Berlin foreign office. Noth- 
ing is mentioned as to his condition, but as they have 
ventured to move him, there must be hope of his re- 
covery. So he is coming!” 

A flood of thoughts shot through Julia’s head. 

“Here?” she stammered. 

“Where else? His home is with us!” 

“But he must not come!” said she anxiously. 

“How?” asked the doctor, rising from his stooping 


BAD NEWS 


199 


posture. He had been gazing upon the sleeping child. 

“Nothing!” she replied, leaying the room. 

Julia that night could not sleep, she saw constantly 
two youthful forms, sitting opposite each other and 
gazing affectionately upon each other — Frieder and 
Therese. Could they, who had looked thus ever for- 
get? 

She again rose with an aching head. “He must not 
come, he must not!” she said. 

Then the old defiant feeling returned. “What does 
it concern me!” 


CHAPTER XX. 


HOW THE RETURNED SOLDIER IS RECEIVED. 

"Now, to be short and sweet, dear sister-in-law, the 
wounded traveler must live with said Herr Kraut- 
ner, who some time since had returned home from 
Ostende with his daughter, and who as he spoke struck 
the floor emphatically with his stick. "There is sim- 
ply no room in this house, and in mine there are 
twelve unoccupied rooms. Do not fear, he shall lack 
nothing at my house and you can see your foster-son 
as often as you wish ; the door in the garden-wall 
which I had made for my children, is open too to 
him. So it is settled ! First Lieutenant Adami is to 
take up his quarters with me!" 

Aunt Riekchen attempted a few objections; it could 
be managed very well there — he came as a son to his 
mother, said she sorrowfully. And Julia could go up 
into the attic-chamber" — I will have a small stove set 
up for her — " 

"Perhaps you might have the rabbit-hutch fixed up 
for her," cried the old gentleman angrily. "Not here, 
the lieutenant will come to me — eh, little girl," he 
turned to Julia, "is that not the best?" 

"Yes!" said Julia, raising her eyes from her em- 
broidery. "Yes! At any rate I will go into the cold 
attic-room under no circumstances." 

Aunt Riekchen looked up in surprise. Never had 
the girl rebelled against any arrangement made for 

200 


HOW THE RETURNED SOLDIER IS RECEIVED 


201 


her. This rudeness unstrung the old lady^s nerves. 
“Well, formerly we could not get you out of this 
room,” said she, “and now you do not want to occupy 
it?" 

“No, aunt!” 

“Why not?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. “Because it is cold up 
there, ” she replied curtly. 

“Then, it is settled, the lieutenant will stay with 
me,” again began the old gentlemian who made a bow 
and withdrew. 

Those left behind did not speak. Fraulein Riekchen 
wept softly; Julia did not notice it. She only looked 
up occasionally from her work at the December flurry 
of snow. 

“You will meet him at the station,” finally began 
Aunt Riekchen, “and tell him considerately, that there 
is no room for him in his foster-mother’s house?” 

“Yes!” 

“You have acquired such a harsh tone, Julia, one is 
almost afraid to ask anything of you,” complained the 
old lady. 

“Oh,” replied the girl, “was I ever any different?” 

“Everyone in the house complains, ” continued Aunt 
Riekchen. “It was very unaccomniodating of you not 
to help a little at the dance up-stairs!” 

“I do not understand such things — and then . . 
Therese cannot bear me around her.” 

At this moment there was a knock, and Therese en- 
tered. She was Santa Claus, she said laughing, and 
had brought something with her. And amid all sorts 
of merry jests she unwrapped two small packages and 
handed each of the ladies one. 

Never had it happened that Therese had paid Julia 


202 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


any attention. The latter looked in astonishment at the 
elegant woman in the costly velvet cloak, upon whose 
brown folds the snowflakes still lay. 

“For me?” she asked, and the usual tremor appeared 
in the corners of her mouth. 

“Yes, certainly!” was the reply; then Therese hur- 
ried out. 

“Now, you again have proof of the injustice of your 
remark that Thereschen cannot bear you,” said Frau- 
lein Riekchen. 

“In what v>^ay?” Julia did not even take the trouble 
to open the package. She knit on, while the sick 
woman with difficulty with her stiff fingers unwrapped 
the paper and rejoiced over the elegant little box 
which fell out and in which was probably some dainty. 
Julians present lay there just the same in the evening 
when she had gone to meet her brother at the station. 

“She grows daily more intolerable, ” said Frau Roett- 
ger, as she heard the story of the 'unheeded gift. “If 
you did not need her so badly, Riekchen, you could 
have let her go long since — but that is just it!” 

“That she has become so unkind is my greatest 
trial,” assented Fraulein Riekchen, and her old heart 
vibrated with delight at the thought of being able to 
press her beloved boy to her bosom. 

“A mother could not await her own child more im- 
patiently,” murmured Frau Minna, returning to her 
room, in order not to witness the “comedy” of the 
meeting. 

Half an hour later Aunt Riekchen sat between her 
two foster-children at supper. The old lady could 
eat nothing, she gazed constantly at the handsome, 
stately man whose bronzed face showed scarcely a 
trace of suffering, although he still wore his arm in 
a sling. 


HOW THE RETURNED SOLDIER IS RECEIVED 203 

He kindly and patiently answered all the confused 
questions of the old lady, he related for the fourth 
time in an hour the story of his wounding, he praised 
the carp and the Rhine wine and told his sister she 
had grown handsome tall, and veritably Roman. He 
thought it “all right’’ to stay over therewith the “old 
man, ’’after he considered that Fritz lived up-stairs 
with his young wife, and he listened with polite at- 
tention to the enthusiastic description of the “boy,” 
which, his aunt in her delight, indulged in. 

“Indeed, Frieder, ” she continued, “they are up- 
stairs; seldom are a couple as well mated as they, 
and to-day, although they have beefi married three 
years, they look at each other as affectionately as they 
did on the betrothal day.” 

He helped himself again to fish. “I am very glad 
to hear it,” said he dryly. Julia had not the courage 
to look at him. 

“To-morrow you must call on them and Aunt Minna - 
too?” continued Aunt Riekchen, “you will then see 
for yourself how the youth blooms and old age fades. 
Yes, my boy, had you come much later, you would 
not have found me here.” The tears ran down the 
old lady’s cheeks^ nor could she wipe them away with 
her poor, helpless hands. 

“You must go to bed,” said Julia at length softly. 

“Ah, not so soon, I cannot sleep yet,” implored her 
aunt. “Fetch some apples and nuts, Julia, it seems as 
if you were children again.” 

Obediently* Julia brought forth what she required, 
and Frieder began to talk again. Suddenly he ceased, 
and a dark flush overspread his face. The piano was 
being played up-stairs. 

Anxiously Julia watched his face; from above came 


204 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


the tones of a melancholy melody, it was variations 
on th-e theme “A wanderer with his staff in his hand.” 

“That is one of Fritz’s favorite pieces,” said Julia 
aloud, gathering up the plates noisily. And the happy 
old lady softly repeated the words of the poem, as 
she stroked the man’s hand: 

“So sehr auch die Sonne sein Antlitz verbrannt, 

Das Mutterang hat ihn doch gleich erkannt.” 

"You look different however, from when you went 
away, Frieder; you have grown handsome, almost as 
handsome as your father was. ” 

He rose suddenly, for from above came the strains 
of the “Faust Waltz.” 

“Sleep well,” said he, "we are all tired. I am not 
either so very bright; to-morrow I will tell you more. 
Help me with my coat, Julia, and then, good-night! 
I remember the way. " ^ 

“I will go with you," she replied. And together 
they passed through the snowy garden-paths, 

“So there is a gate here, ” he murmured. And as if he 
wished to shake off all memories forcibly, he said 
aloud: “The old lady has become quite frail. Ah, how- 
do-you-do, Herr Krautner! I am grateful to you for hos- 
pitably throwing open your house to me; how have 
you been?" 

Julia, who at once turned back, heard the old gen- 
tleman say: “Welcome, Lieutenant! How are you? 
Have you as I recommended on parting from you, 
settled down? Yes? Well, I am glad. Now come 
in and make yourself at home!” 

When she returned the music had ceased. In the 
hall she met the doctor, just leaving his study. 

“Tell me. Good-for-nothing,” he asked, “was I mis- 
taken or did Therese really play?" 


HOW THE RETURNED SOLDIER IS RECEIVED 


205 


“Yes, she played." 

"‘Strange!*’’ he muttered. Then he turned again. 
“Did ycHir brother arrive safely?" 

“Yes”! she repeated curtly and disappeared. 

The doctor found his wife pacing the floor in agita- 
tion. 

“It is well that you have come," said she, “I feel 
so uneasy, the wind must be the cause.” 

“Oh, little Madame Wisdom!” he jested. “Not 
a breeze is stirring without; the snow-flakes are fall- 
ing thick and fast, so that you can have sleighing at 
Christmas. Have you seen anything of the African?" 

“I? — No — what have I to do with him?" she replied 
hastily. 

“Well, do not be angry, there was no offense in my 
question, darling!*’ 

“I did not mean to be angry.” 

“All right! But I am pleased that you are playing 
the piano once more, dear heart.” 

She made no reply. 


CHAPTER XXL 


GHOSTS OF THE PAST. 

The young officer had been home three weeks. 

It could not be denied that he had brought "life 
into the house," as Doctor Roettger said good-naturedly 
to his wife. 

The two playmates’ aversion seemed to have entirely 
disappeared. Though they were not demonstrative at 
all, mutual respect had t^aken the place of reserve; 
each one respected in the other the energetic man, 
who attended conscientiously . to his calling. The 
lieutenant’s overbearing manner had given place to 
a charming modesty, and the abruptness of the other 
to a gentleness which seemed to owe its origin to his 
domestic happiness. There were now pleasant chats 
at the doctor’s tea-table around which the whole fam- 
ily gathered and at which the traveler formed the cen- 
tral point of attraction ; there were festal Sunday din- 
ners at the Krautner villa, and even Frau Roettger 
indulged in a leg of veal. 

The Christmas holiday passed with all its glory of 
light; in the young couple’s dining-room elegant gifts 
had awaited the family, and the voice of the child, 
who stretched out his hands with delight toward the 
glittering tree, rang in the ears of all like sweet 
music. 

A weight had been lifted from Julia’s breast, she 
now breathed more freely; the wound which the beau- 
20 () 


GHOSTS OF THE PAST 


207 


tiful, fair woman had once made in her brother’s 
heart, seemed to have completely healed over, and 
Therese — yes, Therese had eyes and ears for no one 
but her husband. Never could Julia discover that 
these two, Frieder and Therese, even exchanged a 
glance which exceeded the bounds of innocent acquaint- 
ance or relationship. They stood upon the footing 
of mutual esteem and conducted themselves as if the 
pretty blonde head had never lain upon his breast, as 
if he had never kissed the charming woman’s rosy 
lips, as if her eyes had never shed the most scalding 
tears for his sake. 

Julia rejoiced; but she was surprised at the fact as 
at something incomprehensible. Did not his heart ache 
one particle? 

The gay Carnival was approaching. Therese was 
buried deep in the newest fashion journals, the lieu- 
tenant suggested the attire of a Swedish peasant, 
which he thought charming and as if created for her 
fair beauty. After dinner they were left alone in the 
dining room. Papa Krautner and the officer had dined 
with the young couple. Fritz had been called away, 
the old gentleman had gone to take his afternoon nap. 
The table was half-cleared, only the co7npote dishes, 
the wine-glasses and the fruit-dish were still upon 
the damask-cloth. Before them stood the half-emptied 
mocha cups; above them circled the light blue rings 
of smoke from the cigarette which the officer was smok- 
ing. The air was warm, permeated with the odor of 
tobacco, oranges and coffee. The fire in the grate had 
burned low and cast its glow upon the polished floor 
as far as the Smyrna rug under the massive table. 
The pale light of the January day only dimly lit up 
the cozy room. The flame beneath the gleaming little 


2o8 


M‘1SS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


kettle seemed intensely blue, and Tick Tack! Tick 
Tack! said the clock in its saft, discreet tone. The 
magazine rattled in the young wife’s hands and the 
pencil which the lieutenant held, glided hastily over 
the paper. Both remained silent, they were entirely 
alone for the first time. 

Therese crossed her arms and looked fixedly upon 
the designer. 

“There,” said he as unconcernedly as possible, but 
still he did not succeed in altogether hiding his in- 
ward agitation and the tremor in his voice — “now — 
just picture the colors, the gay embroidery, the lovely 
blue of the bodice, and you have an idea of it. I saw 
this costume on a Swedish ship; the captain had his 
young wife with him, a fair, pretty woman like — you, 
Therese. " 

She started and blushed deeply. 

Another silence ensued. 

Finally she rose, went silently to the grate, seized 
the poker and stirred the fire. He followed her with 
his e3^es, and she must have felt his glance, for she 
turned. 

“Shall we skate a little?” she asked hastily. 

“If you wish!” 

Therese stepped into the window-niche, to look at 
the sky and the thermometer. He rose and followed 
her. 

So they stood close together in the embrasure, al- 
most hidden by the gayly woven curtain. A greenish 
light came through the small, leaded panes— only one 
had a clearer color. 

“How often have I stood here,” said he in a low 
voice, “my Cornelius Napos in my hand, studying 
and looking over the book into the court, as a boy 


GHOSTS OF THE PAST 


20g 


regretting every moment lost up here. Then, later, 
I stood here too" — he extended his hand toward the 
new pane — 

‘‘Leave the memories!" said she violently — as if in 
a tone of command — 

‘‘Shall we set out?" 

"Yes!" she replied; nevertheless she hesitated. 
Suddenly she turned her beautiful face full upon him, 
it was dyed crimson. "Tell me one thing, " was wafted 
toward him like a breath, “that you have forgiven me!" 

“No, I have not!" 

“No?" 

"No — never!" 

They looked at each other, then she lowered her 
eyes, trembling and groping behind her with her hand, 
in order to support herself upon the window-sill. 

“How could I forgive her who robbed me of my 
life’s happiness?" he continued bitterly. The next 
moment the curtain fell behind his slender form. 
Therese heard his step go through the room, heard 
him open and close the doors ! She remained there 
as if stunned. 

After a while the maid entered. 

‘‘Madam?" 

She rose with difficulty. “What do you want?" 

“The lieutenant is awaiting madam to go skating." 

She put her hand to her brow. “Tell him, I am 
sorry I cannot come, it has grown too late and — I have 
a headache. Or no, do not say I have a headache." 

She then repaired to the nursery, but the child was 
below with his grandmother. So she descended the 
stairs and quietly seated herself in the arm-chair at 
the stove, watching the old lady playing with the 
child. 


210 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“What do you think about the lieutenant, Therese?” 
asked Frau Roettger suddenly. 

“What about him?” 

“He has been ordered to Berlin and is to tell the 
Emperor about the battle. Eh, boy, he can laugh!” 

“How do you know that?” asked Therese in a 
strangely hurried manner. 

“From Fritz. The letter came just when you sent 
word you did not care to go on the ice. Frieder 
leaves to-night.” 

Therese made no remark, she, however, blushed. 

“The gentlemen at the ‘ Traube ’ tried to persuade 
him to give a lecture about his experiences and the 
custom in the Colonies,” continued Frau Roettger. 
“I believe, he promised to do so n"ext week. You will 
see the Andersheimers will fight for seats, for every- 
thing African is the rage now.” 

Miss Good-for-nothing, who was on her way to the 
Krautner villa to help Frieder unpack, met Frau 
Therese a few minutes later in the hall. 

“Where are you going?” asked the young wife. 

“To Frieder. ” 

“Wait, I will go with you; that is, I want to see 
papa!” 

Arrived at the villa Therese immediately sought her 
father’s room, Julia her brother’s. 

The host’s room was filled with a blue cloud of 
tobacco smoke. The old man sat in the arm-chair 
with his long pipe; opposite him with a cigar was 
his son-in-law. The officer was seated on the edge of 
the table, a cigarette between his slender fingers. 

Father and husband greeted Therese pleasantly; 
Frieder rose silently from his careless position. “Did 
Julia come with you?” he asked. 


GHOSTS OF THE PAST 


21 1 


"Yes,” replied Therese, "she wants to pack your, 
trunk. ” 

“Kind of her!” 

She stepped behind her father’s chair; she would 
not sit down, she said, she only wished to see how 
he was, he had been so pale. 

“Is that what you came for?” asked the old gentle- 
man laughing. ‘‘I am as lively as a fish in water!” 
He rose and advanced to the only mirror in the room, 
above the chest of drawers. ‘‘I must see, neverthe- 
less, occasionally it collars one, one knows not how!” 
he murmured. 

“But, papa, do not jest!” exclaimed the doctor. 
"You are the picture of health.” 

“Yes, that is true indeed, Fritz,” replied Herr 
Krautner sitting somewhat uncomfortably erect in his 
chair, “But you see, the day before yesterday I met 
Frau Norban, she sat in her carriage the personifica- 
tion of health — and to-day she is at the point of 
death. ” 

“Frau Norban?” cried Therese. “You have told 
me nothing about it, Fritz!” 

‘T have just heard of it myself.” 

“What? Are you not the Norban’s physician?” 

He puffed at his cigar. “No longer, it seems,” he 
replied quietly. 

Suddenly the young matron colored. “You are no 
longer stylish?” said she sharply. “Since the New 
Year you have not been employed by the Brinkmanns 
or the Voights either!” 

He laughed. “Since when have you taken such an 
interest in my practice, little wife?” 

“I have always been interested in it, more than 
you think ! At any rate I am not as indifferent as you 


212 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


are, as to your being the first and most sought-after 
doctor in town!” she replied excitedly. 

‘‘Well! Well!” muttered the old gentleman who 
did not know whether she was jesting or in earnest. 

The doctor still laughed; the lieutenant slowly 
lighted a fresh cigarette. 

‘‘Were I in your place I would try to get out of this 
nest,” she continued; ‘‘it would be easy for you to 
obtain a professorship at Heidelberg or somewhere ! 
But you are quite satisfied with the old routine here, 
and allow the people to tell you all sorts of incredible 
things. ” 

‘‘Frieder, ” said the doctor somewhat sharply, ‘‘ask 
His Majesty if he does not chance to need a physician 
in ordinary; my wife would be especially fitted for 
the spouse of such a person.” 

The old gentleman laughed and coughed loudly; 
Frieder rose. Without entering into the doctor’s joke, 
he bowed politely and excused himself under the pre- 
text of wanting to help his sister. 

‘‘Now tell me, for God’s sake, child, what demon 
of pride has possessed you!” exclaimed the doctor, 
quickly restored to good humor. He took her hand 
and drew her resisting form toward him. ‘‘Do Frau 
Norban and the two other seceders furnish grounds 
enough for me to give up my quite lucrative position 
here?” 

She threw back her head and stroked her brow; it 
seemed as if her senses were just returning. ‘‘I am 
sorry that you wish to spoil your life here,” said she 
softly, ‘‘and too, I am vexed at the ingratitude of the 
people. ” 

‘‘Silly darling, leave that to me; I have a great 
deal of reason to be delighted with gratitude. But we 


GHOSTS OF THE PAST 


213 


must go home, the time is coming for our frolic with 
‘Boy^ ; it is growing dark. Good-night, grandpapa!” 

They went home through the garden and together 
entered the nursery. The nurse had lighted the lamp 
and spread the large piece of white felt upon the 
floor; the child who sat upon it in the short, white 
flannel dress, stretched its arms gleefully toward its 
father. Softly the old woman left the room, and the 
hour, which had always been the most delightful for 
parents and child, began. But strange to say, there 
was not the same enjoyment in it to-day. 

"You are not entering into the spirit!” jested the 
doctor, throwing to his wife, who sat at one end of 
the rug, the ball, after which the child crept on all 
fours. 

"Indeed I — I am so tired to-day,” said she, rolling 
the ball toward the boy, who looked quite surprised; 
then she rose and seated herself in a chair. 

"Have you a headache, dearest?” 

"Yes, a little.” 

"Be quiet, noisy fellow, mamma has the headache, ” 
he whispered to the child and gazed with delight 
upon the open mouth and the inquiring blue eyes, with 
which the little one first listened to the whisper, in 
order afterward to scream aloud. 

"Go to your room, Therese, it is quiet there ; I will 
soon follow you.” 

She rose and went out. She did not know how she 
felt and she did not want to know. She would have 
liked to have done something, something, mad, unreas- 
onable — only something different, to do away with 
that which raged in her brain, which excited her to 
such a terrible degree! For weeks, wheresoever she 
went and stood, she saw the same — a handsome, 


214 


MISS GOOD-FOR-.NOTHING 


bronzed man’s face with fair hair, whose clear eyes 
seemed never to look at her and which yet pierced the 
depths of her soul, detaining her in an insufferable 
bann — this same equable, calm, composed personality, 
which, without the tremor of an eyelash, could meet 
the greatest danger, but too could with a smile wound 
mortally. 

And he had once belonged to her, to her alone! 

She planted her clenched fists upon the window-sill. 
She saw him in the presence of his Imperial master 
with the same composure, she saw him at the table to 
which he was graciously bidden, perhaps by the' side 
of some proud beauty while he described to the lady 
the African scenery in the glowing colors in which 
he had described it to her so often, so often! How 
absurd she still was! What was he to her! She could 
have had him, had she wanted him — she had not 
wanted him and had become the adored wi/e of an- 
other — of another. 

“Well, little one, still without a light?” at this mo- 
ment called out the voice of her husband. 

“Still,” said she wearily. 

He seated himself upon the sofa and yawned aud- 
ibly. “Darling,” he besought, “do not be angry — but 
that matter to-day undid me.” 

She did not ask : “What matter?” and so did not 
learn that he had had to perform a difficult amputa- 
tion. 

“Come to me a little, Therese. ” 

She rose slowly and advanced, but she did not nestle 
to him as usual. He drew her to him. “There; now 
I desire nothing else in the world.” 

She did not reply, she simply shrugged her shoulders 
imperceptibly that he did not feel it, although he 


G-HOSTS OF THE PAST 


215 


held her in his arms. They sat thus in silence, at 
length after some time she said half-aloud: “But it 
would be nice!” 

“What?” 

“ If you would do something to — ” 

“Become something exceptional,” he completed. 
“How absurd you are! Will not ’Frieder^s laurels 
allow you to rest?” 

Again she shrugged her shoulders, and from her 
lips almost inaudibly and with an effort came the 
words; “What does Frieder concern me!” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


HOW FREIDER WINS APPLAUSE FROM A FASHIONABLE 
AUDIENCE. 

Frieder was really the “style.” The newspapers 
published lengthy articles about him, articles which 
announced that he had been summoned to Berlin and 
what occurred at the audience. Then the mayor of 
the town gave out that Lieutenant Adami would de- 
liver a lecture tor the benefit of the restoration of the 
Elizabeth church at Andersheim on his experiences 
in the German territory in East Africa. 

The person sought after, amid all this, remained 
unchanged, he was as formal and as affable as ever; 
he smoked his cigarettes with as much composure, 
skated with Frau Therese and danced with her at the 
parties given in his honor. But he did not dance 
with her any oftener than he danced with others. 

Therese grew paler and more irritable than ever, 
and the doctor was gravely anxious; he consulted 
with his mother about this strange alteration. 

“Well, you are a nice doctor for the family,” said 
the latter calmly; “1 advise you to employ a house- 
physician! As if it were anything for a young wife to 
have whims! When I was newly-married I threw the 
boot-jack at your father’s head.” 

He was obliged to laugh and was consoled for a few 
days, only to become more anxious. 

Suddenly, however, all seemed to have vanished 
31G 


FRIEDER WINS APPLAUSE 


217 


which had rendered Therese sad, and this change took 
place on the day on which Frieder Adami delivered 
his lecture at the Casino. 

Towards evening Therese entered Aunt Riekchen’s 
room rather put-out, for she was to go to the lecture 
with Julia, Frau Roettger was confined to her bed 
with a sick headache and Aunt Riekchen, enveloped 
in covers, embedded in cushions, had already gone in 
her rolling chair to the “Goldenen Traube; ” there 
several men under the doctor’s directions were to 
carry her and her chair into the hall. For years she 
had not been out of the house, but to-day— she would 
not have missed her darling’s lecture at any price. 

Julia could not help herself, she had to go. She 
would gladly have remained at home, but Aunt Riek- 
chen had almost wept, when she made excuses, so she 
donned her best dress which was too tight for her 
everywhere. She felt awkward and wretched in it, 
and Therese said at once too, she would lend her a 
scarf, for the bodice fit abominably. The stylish 
woman would not for the world have entered the hall 
with the shabbily-dressed girl and now helped Julia 
to arrange a white silk scarf with delicate gold em- 
broidery in tasteful folds; upon her left shoulder she 
fastened it with a small, Roman Mosaic brooch in the 
form of a dagger — it was the only souvenir Julia had 
of her mother, and she had brought it forth with hesi- 
tation. 

They reached the already-filled hall of the inn, in 
which all the gas-jets were burning. 

The respected citizens of Andersheim had all ar- 
rived. A seat was reserved for Therese in the first 
row; Julia seated herself at one side of the platform, 
beside old Fraulein Trautmann’s chair. She could 


2i8 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


have seen the whole room, but did not dare to raise 
her eyes; she was uneasy, very uneasy, as much so 
as if she were responsible for what her brother s.aid 
and did; and her faith was slight, she doubted that 
he was able to lecture well. 

On entering she had, attracted by Therese’s vexed 
exclamation: ‘‘Just see how my husband looks! He 
has not even changed his dress!" perceived Fritz op- 
posite against the wall with several gentlemen. Then 
Julia did not look over again. At length she ventured 
to do so and saw that his eyes were fixed upon them 
in astonishment. His glance perplexed her; she 
thought she read in it that she had adorned herself 
too gayly, and with a blush she again bent her head. 

A certain sonnet, he could not remember, where he 
had read it, occurred to the doctor. 

“Sie stieg vom Kapitol die Stufen nieder, 

Da purpura schon die Sonne Koms versank. 

Nie sah mein Auge, seit es Schonheit trank, 

So stolzes Haupt, so konigliche Glieder. 

Als frug’ ihr Reis nach keines Menchen Dank, 

Hieltsie gesenkt die breiten Augentider. ” 

He turned to ‘‘Uncle Doctor," the girl’s guardian, 
and said to him with genuine surprise: 

‘‘Just see, what a proud butterfly the little brown 
chrysalis has become and how well the gold embroid- 
ered scarf suits her!" 

Then he glanced at his fair young wife, and an ex- 
pression of emotion flitted over his face. The most 
charming, the sweetest, the best in the whole hall 
was his! He loved her, loved her now, when she 
was pale, irritable, nervous, more tenderly than ever. 
He endeavored to obtain a glance, a bow from her — 
in vain; she did not look over. 


FRIEDER WINS APPLAUSE 


219 


The speaker now appeared. His bow was faultless, 
his dress too. His coat fit perfectly, and the slight 
pallor of his face was ver}^ interesting. 

“When one,” he began, “tries to relate anything, 
one should do it fully! Since the hour that I again 
stepped upon German soil, no question has j5een asked 
me oftener than ‘How came you to think of going to 
Africa?^ And I suspect that there are many here in 
this room who would like to know the reason which 
sent me to the Dark Continent. I will be frank — I 
have always been interested in Africa, have always 
watched with enthusiasm our progress there. Nothing 
can equal my admiration of our bold pioneers, wlx) 
did not and do not shirk dangers, trials and depriva- 
tions, to explore that land. Of course, however, it 
required an especial shock to actuate me to partici- 
pate in this work. Of what nature the shock was, 
would scarcely be of interest to a second and third 
person — let us assume, I wanted ‘to heal an old sor- 
row in new air.’ Well, enough of that! That I did 
not lack the firm will to be of use, to learn, yes to 
risk blood and life for one great object, I think I have 
proved. 

Permit me then, sirs, to begin my description with 
the moment, when I, standing on the steps of the 
bridge of an enormous warship, which was bound for 
a southern sea, saw the towers and roofs of the good 
town of Keil grow dim in the wintry mist and heard 
the native water flow beneath the bow. I was pos- 
sessed by a truly lamentable sensation, which caused 
me to look upon what I had possessed at home, what 
I had lost and should have avoided, as more fascinat- 
ing and more unobtainable than ever, so much so that 
I considered myself the most unfortunate person on 


220 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


eartli. What the philosophers maintain is not true, 
that being separated from the spot in which one has 
suffered, will mitigate pain. Personally, longing for 
home troubled me a great deal.” 

Julia involuntarily glanced at Therese. The young 
wife’s face was almost ghastly; her eyes were fastened 
greedily upon the slender man. And now he slowly 
turned his head toward her and for several seconds 
they gazed at each other with a glance which made 
Julia’s heart beat wildly, which drove the blood into 
her cheeks, to such a degree that she was seized with 
dizziness. She did ndt hear her brother’s words, her 
hands were so tightly clasped, that they pained her. 
She could think of only one thing — if Fritz had no- 
ticed that glance, and what would happen after such 
a glance and — and — great God! Up to this time she 
had but feared that Frieder would allow himself to 
be carried away by his love, that he might be unhap- 
py, if he saw her — of Therese she had never thought, 
she was the wife, the adored wife of another, happy 
and to be envied. And now — no, it was not possible! 
She forced herself to be calm, she looked at Therese. 
She sat there with flushed cheeks, slowly waving her 
fan, apparently listening gravely but unmoved. Not 
another sign of that swift interchange of secret under- 
standing. She looked at Fritz; he sat calmly between 
his father-in-law and “Uncle Doctor” and was eagerly 
listening to the speaker’s words. She looked at the 
entire audience — among which were nothing but inter* 
ested faces. She drew a deep breath. No one had 
seen the terrible occurrence but her — was it really so, 
was it now a dream? 

Yet she could not keep her eyes off the couple. 
They, however, did not glance at each other any 


FRIEDER WINS APPLAUSE 


221 


more. Several times at some comical description 
everyone in the audience smiled, but Therese’s lips 
did not move, and Julia thought she did not hear what 
he was saying, she was thinking — my God, she was 
thinking of what? The stifling, oppressive sensation 
stole over her again. 

The lecture was finished; loud applause rang 
through the room. Julia saw her brother descend the 
two steps of the platform and raise Therese’s hand 
to his lips with composure — then he advanced to the 
old lady and likewise kissed her hand. 

“Fine! — Very fine!” whispered Fraulein Riekchen 
faintly. 

“But — Frieder — no, not here — later!” 

“What do you want, aunt?” 

“Ah, my boy, I did not even know that trouble 
drove you away,” said she with tears in her eyes. 

He smiled. “One has to embellish one’s speeches 
somewhat; do not worry, aunt!” 

He himself pushed her invalid’s chair down the 
narrow aisles between the seats, and Julia walked be- 
hind them, silently, with glowing cheeks and down- 
cast eyes. 

In the neighborhood of the door where the people 
were still congregated Julia and Aunt Riekcljen met 
Papa Krautner. The latter suddenly turned the chair 
toward a side door, and beckoned the others to fol- 
low; a few seconds later the family was shown in a 
small by-room, in the center of which, under the chan- 
delier stood a set table, upon which a number of glass- 
es were placed temptingly beside each plate. 

Old Herr Krautner seemed perfectly delighted with 
his guest’s success and had resolved to entertain roy- 
ally the fine fellow who had so distinguished himself. 


222 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“Now,” said he, “we will drink to the welfare of 
the lecturer — if you please, be seated, the oysters will 
soon be served.” 

Aunt Riekchen, however, insisted upon going home 
immediately, and the doctor said he must go at once 
to a patient who was seriously ill, and would then 
see his aunt home. So the host bade the caterer keep 
the meal waiting, and proposed that the pause be 
employed by drinking a glass of “Genuine” in the 
coffee-room. 

Julia was suddenly left alone with Frieder and 
Therese. It was not so very warm, in the shabbily 
furnished room, yet it seemed to her terribly sultry. 
Therese sat upon the sofa covered with red plush, 
Frieder stood at the table, reading the menu. 

Absently Julia looked around the room, she exam- 
ined the oil painting of the Emperor and the hideous 
hangings. 

She would have gone home to soothe the agitated 
old lady, to see Frau Roettger whose headache usur 
ally at such times was resolved into obstinacy and 
scolding, and still she felt as if detained by iron 
braces; she did not want to leave the couple alone, 
after that glance, followed by his confession so clearly 
made for TRerese’s benefit, the confession, that he had 
only left life fatherland for her sake — To-morrow — 
to-morrow the mad phantom would surely disappear. 
At length the doctor returned, and all would be well, 
she thought. 

She rose. 

“Please, do not be vexed, if I leave,” said she, “I 
do not think it right to leave aunt alone.” Already 
she was at the door. 

“Bu-t, Julia!” cried the doctor, following her. 


FRIEDER WINS APPLAUSE 


223 


She hastened with the words: "I pray you Fritz, 
remain!” down the stairs, seized her cloak, which 
hung on a nail in the cloak-room beside Tberese^s, 
and hurried out into the dark street. 

Suddenly she was stopped. 

“Permit me at least to see you home,” said the doc- 
tor, “it is quite a distance, and there is a stretch of 
lonesome highroad.” 

“I pray you, Fritz, go! Your father-in-law will 
want to dine,” she implored impatiently. 

“Papa Krautner? He is still sitting behind another 
glass arguing with Uncle Doctor, so that he will not 
remember he has guests, until I take him by the coat 
sleeve. These few minutes will make no difference.” 

“But I do not want you to go!” she exclaimed, be- 
side herself, “Do you hear, I do not want you!” She 
stamped her feet. “I can take care of myself!” By 
the light of the street lamp he saw an agitated, anx- 
ious face, but in the eyes gleamed a resolute will. 

She turned her back upon him and walked hastily 
away. 

He shrugged his shoulder and turned back. 
“Strange,” said he, “she will not accept the slightest 
favor. My mother would call it ‘beggarly pride’ — or 
is there something else in it? I know for a fact that 
she does not like to be upon the street alone at night.” 

He entered the coffee-room and fetched his father- 
in-law who was angrily defending hi,s colonial polit- 
ical views. 

“Now, papa, we want to eat; Therese and Frieder 
are impatiently awaiting us up-stairs.” 

When they entered the young wife stood by the 
iron stove, her foot upon a projection of the door, and 
let the firelight play upon it. Frieder was just turn- 
ing from the window. 


224 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


. ‘At last!” grumbled Therese, "We have waited an 
eternity!” 

Fritz drew her to the table. “You are very warm,” 
said he, “how can you stand so near the iron stove? 
You will spoil your fine complexion, you careless wo- 
man !” 

She shivered. “I was so cold,” she murmured, look- 
ing at the number on her napkin. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


A SEED OF BITTERNESS TAKES ROOT. 

“Fritz,” asked Fraulein Trautmann the next day, 
“do you know if Frieder ever had an unhappy love 
affair?” The old lady had had no peace since the 
day before. “What did he say — T wanted to heal an 
old sorrow in new air?’” 

The doctor smiled. 

“Aunt, those are not his words, but Paul Heyse’s, 
and do you know— chattering belongs to the trade. 
Frieder knew how to make himself interesting at once 
to the ladies here. According to my opinion he does 
not look love-lorn, and — to be candid — if one goes 
away for such a reason, one does not inform the pub- 
lic of it. It may be, that he still has an old sweet- 
heart 'here, whom he wishes to make believe that he 
went over the sea on account of her behavior. So 
rest easy, aunt — your Frieder is a droll fellow and 
knows why he spoke thus.” 

“Julia says so too; but he is usually so serious,” 
sighed Fraulein Riekchen, “and he will give me no 
explanation. ” 

King Carnival entered the land. Gayly and merrily 
as usual on the Rhine, he filled the air with the sound 
of bells, the clattering of wooden swords, and music 
and dazzled the eyes with bright colors, 

225 


226 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


Therese seemed suddenly changed. Silent and irri- 
table as she had been before, she was now possessed 
by a veritable wantonness. “Genuine, Rhinish blood,’’ 
said the doctor laughing, as she ran about the salon 
in a short costume of light-blue satin interwoven with 
white roses, her hair powdered, and with high-heeled 
shoes, while he tried to catch her. 

“The carriage is waiting below,” he then warned, 
hurrying after her, “and what is still more important, 
mother is waiting. Come let me put on your cloak!” 
But she flew from one corner to the other, and finally 
she leaped upon the sofa, with a peculiar laugh which 
he had never heard before. And when he, entering 
into the jest, pushed the table close to it, in order to 
catch her, she even leaped upon the table, and he 
took her blissfully in his arms, as he was in the habit 
of doing with his boy. 

She then examined him suddenly from head to foot 
with cold eyes and a changed expression. “This old 
German cap is horribly unbecominng to you!” said 
she. 

“You look so much the more charming, Therese.” 

“Please, let me go!” she asked. 

“Yes, under one condition.” 

“Oh, I know it!” She stooped quickly and bit his 
cheek so that the marks of her tiny teeth were upon 
it. Just as quickly she was upon the floor, looking 
at him with eyes in which was a mingled expression of 
disgust and anger. 

He did not see it. “Well, that was more than a 
joke,” said he quietly, wiping the painful spot with 
his pocket-handkerchief. 

“You know I cannot bear such silliness,” she replied, 
suddenly bursting into sobs. “Ah, this world is so 


A SEED OF BITTERNESS TAKES ROOT 


227 


horribly stupid! And to-day is — the Carnival!” 

He shook his head. 

Do you know, your nerves are very much affected, ” 
said he, "and were you 7ny patient, you would remain 
here.” 

The cliild was brought in at this juncture to kiss 
his mother good-bye. But he was afraid of the black 
velvet mask and cried, and Therese angrily bade the 
nurse, who was deeply insulted, to carry the child away. 

For a while thereafter the house was enshrouded in 
silence, the young couple and Frau Roettger had gone 
to the ball; the child was asleep and Fraulein Traut- 
mann likewise. Onl}^ from Julia’s window still glim- 
mered a light; she sat and worried about another’s 
happiness and took herself to task for her nonsensical 
fancies. Her pure mind revolted at that which mis- 
trust continued to awaken within her. Had she not 
seen that glance, had she not known that Therese 
had once broken her faith! But that was no faith 
such as had been pledged at the altar, the girl assured 
herself, no faith such as that which had been strength- 
ened by the most sacred ties in the world. And she 
recalled the fair boy up-stairs in his bed, and grew 
more composed. Frieder would not be there much 
longer, and then Therese’ s superficial heart would 
regain its equilibrium. If he were but gone! Therese 
was not bad, surely not;' she only allowed herself to 
be carried away by what she thought she must admire 
— no, she was not bad! 

The girl sought to remember all the former bliss of 
their wedded life, in order to bring it up as a proof 
of Therese’s fidelity. Ah, it was terrible, that she 
had to worry thus. No — it could not be— for Fritz! — 
Fritz would not bear such deception. 


228 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


On the following day toward evening the doctor 
came from the house of his father in law whom he 
was in the habit of visiting daily. Upon the steps 
of the villa he hesitated, considered and decided to 
walk through the garden, instead of along the Rhine. 
His limbs still ached from dancing. They had not 
returned home until morning, and when he was scarcely 
asleep, he was again rung up, to bind up the wound 
of a victim of the carnival, who had been struck by 
the beer-glass of a rival. The unpleasant scene, which 
was enacted in a journeymens’ public-house, had 
completely spoiled his humor which was not of the 
rosiest. 

Therese had been undisputed queen of the ball and 
had accepted the attentions of the young men, like a 
girl who has still the control over heart and hand. 
And for three-quarters of an hour he had sat in a 
corner, feeling vexed that such nonsense could afford 
a sensible womian pleasure, and forming the resolution 
to tell her quietly that, from that night, all visits to the 
assemblies must cease ; for She was too nervous and 
dancing was not good for her. Indeed after every 
dance she was paler, and her eyes were feverish. 

That morning he had had no opportunity to talk 
with her, for she was asleep, and to his surprise his 
mother was up-stairs to dinner. Therese had invited 
her to partake of the I'agout fin, the old lady’s favor- 
ite dish. Before dessert was served, the young woman 
again laid down. When he now reached home, he 
could without doubt speak with her. 

It was the clear blue-gray twilight of a February 
evening at the end of the month, too dark to be able 
to distinguish objects plainl}^ but light enough to be 
just able to see. Here and there shimmered a strip 


A SEED OF BITTERNESS TAKES ROOT 229 

of snow lying on the edge of the lawn, and to one 
side gleamed like ghosts in the darkness the white- 
washed trunks or the trees in the orchard. Smoking 
his cigar, he did not take the nearest path, but went 
around the extensive lawn and passed the summer- 
house, which was situated near the wall toward the 
Rhine. The old gentleman had, when he bought the 
garden, refurnished and rebuilt the old thing, as, from 
its windows it afforded a fine view across the river. 
In the early spring he enjoyed sitting there, when it 
was too soon to sit out-of-doors, or late in the autumn 
when showers came up frequently. 

In the tiny vestibule as well as in the kitchen were 
now lodged the strange rococo figures of the garden, 
which Herr Alois Krautner had bought at the auction 
of the Ducal park, and whose naked limbs looked so 
comical in toupets and shepherd’s caps — the building 
was generally not used in winter. 

Fritz walked past deep in his thoughts and almost 
stumbled over the broad sandstone steps, which were 
scarcely above the level of the road. Then he left the 
garden and for a while stood at the door of his own 
estate on the dark river. He. then heard to one side 
a sharp, scratching sound, and descried a shadow which 
glided beyond the summer-house by the wall ; it must 
have come through the window of the house. No doubt 
a thief! He was already preparing to follow the fu- 
gitive with long strides, then, however, he paused as 
if he had reconsidered it, for the unknown had long 
since vanished in the fog and mist of night. He 
thought it more sensible to turn back and to see if 
anything about the summer-house had been disturbed, 
in order if necessary to notify its owner. Perhaps a 
river driver had sought a comfortable night’s lodging 
there! 


230 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


The garden lay there dark and deserted, but he fan- 
cied he saw something light flit through the gate con- 
necting it with his own garden — or did he not? He 
must have been mistaken, for on looking again, he 
certainly felt convinced that he had confounded it with 
the gleaming birch-tree by the gate, and so he walked 
rapidly toward the summer-house. He was surprised 
to find the door, generally locked at this season of 
the year, ajar. 

In the hall he lighted his pocket-lantern and entered 
the tiny room. 

No one there. 

He opened the cupboard — the old master’s garden 
coat hung there, his straw hat over it. On the other 
side stood cups, a match-box, and an old brass chafing- 
dish. He examined the windows; they were locked, 
only one blind was not bolted and it rattled some- 
what. He fastened it securely and then looked far- 
ther; the rug at the sofa was pushed aside, other- 
wise — 

Suddenly he stood up and stared as if spellbound 
at an object at his feet, then he stooped and picked, 
up a light white silk scarf with goid embroidery. 

“Julia’s scarf,” said he, himself unable to explain 
the sudden feeling of anger which possessed him. 
“Julia’s scarf!” he repeated with a short laugh. 

He extinguished the light in the lantern and seated 
himself upon the rickety piece of furniture, as if he 
had first to collect his strength in order to be able to 
grasp the unheard-of situation. A man, who leaped 
from the window, and Julia with him in this remote 
spot — alone!. The proud girl who up to this time 
had seemed to him as pure as — ah, he could find no 
comparison. “That comes from the unloved manner 


A SEED OF BITTERNESS TAKES ROOT 


231 


in» which she has been reared,” he murmured bitterly. 
‘‘And yet — notwithstanding, it is incomprehensible! 
But I must warn, help, advise her!” 

He rose and hastened into the open air, the scarf 
in his hand. It was quite dark. One of the Kraut- 
ner maids met him in the vicinity of the gate joining 
the two estates. 

‘‘Is my wife with her father?” 

‘‘Madame has not been here at all to-day,” replied 
the maid, ‘‘indeed no one has been but you, sir. The 
lieutenant has been gone several hours ; I believe he 
was going to walk to — ” she named a village near by 
— ‘‘I merely heard him tell master.” 

‘‘Yes, I know,” he answered absently, continuing 
on his way. 

In his own house he saw a light in the nursery and 
in his wife’s boudoir. Aunt Riekchen’s rooms were 
dark. He opened the door and called: ‘‘Is Julia 
here?” 

‘‘Yes!” said the girl’s deep, musical voice. 

‘‘Have you been at home all evening?’ 

A short silence, then a ‘‘No!” 

‘‘Pardon — where were you, Julia?” 

‘‘I” — again a pause — ‘‘how can it interest you?” 

He made no reply. ‘‘Will you come to my room in 
fifteen minutes — to the study — for several seconds?” 

‘‘Gladly!” 

Fritz repaired to his room, laid the scarf carefully 
on the writing-table and sought his wife. 

Therese lay upon her sofa ia the boudoir, the lamp 
was low. She looked pale and she shivered. 

“Oh!” said he anxiously. "Are you going to in- 
crease my practice?” 

"I am so tired,” she complained. 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


232 

"You should have gone out in the air a while — have 
you not been out at all to-day?” 

"No!” she said. 

“On the sofa constantly? I am not suprrised that 
you are cold. Have you been reading? If you would 
only cease reading, as soon as you feel ill.” 

"I should like to sleep.” 

"That means I am to go, child? Very well, but 
to-morrow I must talk seriously with you; this cannot 
go on, Therese!” 

She started up. "What cannot go on?” 

"Oh, oh! Not to-day, to-morrow! Be reasonable 
and sleep, I will see that all is quiet!” He nodded 
gravely and left the room. 

"Oh, these women!” he murmured, knocking at 
Aunt Riekchen’s door. 

"Will you come, Julia?” 

"Immediately!” she replied. 

He went on ahead, seated himself at his work-table 
and turned the lighted lamp higher, then he rested 
his cheek upon his hand. His heart palpitated like 
a school boy’s. Soon after she entered. 

He gazed at her as she stood before him, without 
speaking a word. She looked grieved; her face was 
no longer childish. He fancied he could see upon 
her features something that bespoke inward struggles, 
secret passion. 

"Julia,” he began, it was difficult for him to speaK, 
"you know you have always found in me a friend, a 
brother — or did you not, Julia?” 

She glanced at him, and the tremor about the cor- 
ners of her mouth became more accentuated; it looked 
almost haughty. 

"Oh, certainly!” she replied. 


A SEED OF BITTERNESS TAKES ROOT 


233 


"You can imagine that it must affect a brother deeply 
and painfully to discover in his sister—-” 

He hesitated and paced the floor; he did not know 
how to inform her that he had discovered her secret. 
‘‘Look at this scarf!” said he at length, pointing to 
the texture beside the lamp. 

She looked at it and then at him, calmly, with an 
expression of surprise. 

‘‘I just found it — you probably forgot it at your ren- 
dezvous in the summer-house — in the pain of parting, 
perhaps too — ” And irritated by her composure: "Ah, 
Julia, child, how could you forget yourself so far!” 

Her eyes opened unnaturally wide. “The scarf — I 
— I am supposed? — ” 

"Be frank with me, Julia!” he implored. "It will 
happen some day that you will love, but I thought 
that an honorable man would knock at either Aunt 
Riekchen’s or my door as is the custom, a man who 
would demand your hand uprightly and honestly; I 
never dreamed that you — would have a lover with 
whom you would have to hide,* who would take his 
departure through the window!” 

She started up. 

"You are mad!” she cried. "Oh, that is — that is 
— ” Suddenly she paused and her hands groped for 
the back of the sofa, while she put the other before 
her eyes as if she were dizzy. "My God!” rang through 
the room. 

"Yes, it is better you should not lie, but rather 
confide in me; everything may yet be made right. I 
pray you, Julia, tell me all, let me talk with the 
man! I am prepared, although with a heavy heart, 
to excuse you. You have had no mother. Aunt Reik- 
chen did not understand how to win your love — you 


234 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


have lacked affection all these years, you perhaps had 
not the courage to say to aunt: ‘I love and am loved!’ 
I will respect your conlidence, will help you — but con- 
fess, child, tell me, who is it! It cannot go on thus; 
it is unworthy of you and us!” 

He drew near her and stroked her hair. ‘‘Speak, 
Good-for-nothing, speak!” he implored. 

‘‘I cannot! I cannot! Cease!” cried she, pushing 
back his hand; her troubled eyes roved about the 
room, as if she did not know whether she was waking 
or dreaming. 

• ‘‘You cannot?” 

‘‘No! No!” 

She burst into a short, nervous laugh. ‘‘Give me 
the scarf, I want to go!” 

‘‘No, you shall not go!” cried he violently, provoked 
by her laughter. ‘‘You shall not escape me! I, as 
the master of this house will not have people point- 
ing their fingers at her who was treated as a daughter 
here — so speak, speak!” 

She stepped in front of him with uplifted hand as 
if she wished to avenge the insult with a blow. ‘‘Point 
their fingers at me?” she gasped. 

He seized the hand and put it down. Julia’s 
ghastly face wore a strange expression. 

‘‘Reflect! You wore this scarf a few days ago; I 
saw it on you when your brother delivered his lecture. 
Am I mistaken? Yes or no! If 3^ou say no, I shall 
inquire farther as to the owner of this scarf. Speak : 
Yes or no?” 

She bowed her head. ‘‘It is my scarf,” said she 
almost inaudibly. 

‘‘And who was with you?” 

‘‘I cannot say.” 


A SEED OF BITTERNESS TAKES ROOT 


235 


"You will not tell me?” 

"No!” 

His anger got the better of him. "I never thought 
it possible that you would go astray,” he exclaimed 
furiously. "Leave me — I do not want to see you 
again!” 

She went out, the scarf in her nerveless hand, her 
form bent, as if crushed. At the door she threw back 
her head and drew herself up. 

With a firm step Julia passed out of the house and 
through the garden. Breathlessly she arrived at the 
villa and asked for her brother. He was at home; 
she found him on the sofa, smoking a cigarette and 
reading. He was startled by the pale, threatening 
face of the girl. 

"What is the matter?” he cried. 

"Pack your trunk and leave at once,” said she with 
forced composure. 

"Wherefore?” 

"Because you shall no longer betray an honorable 
man! I know all! You have had a rendezvous with 
Therese — you have been seen!” 

He looked astonished but his pallor was sufficient 
proof that the accusation was well-founded. "The 
deuce, what is all this?” he grumbled sullenly. "Be- 
sides — who saw me?” 

“Fritz!” 

He laughed curtly. "Now there will be a row. But 
how does the doctor know it was Therese?” 

"He does not know.” 

"Then what are you making such a fuss about?” 

She looked at him with horror. "Fritz thinks I 
was there with a — ” Her voice failed her. 

"Ah, that is fine! I hope you let him think so?” 


236 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“Yes,” said she unsteadily, “because he would not 
survive the knowledge that Therese could conduct 
herself so shamelessly.” 

Frieder drew himself up to his full height. “Shame- 
lessly! No, my dear child, you do not understand 
this case, therefore pass no judgment! It is kind of 
you to assume the guilt, I am grateful to you for it 
and shall never forget this clever strategy — but spare 
Therese your criticism ! She came at my request to 
the summer-house that we might converse undisturbed 
with regard to our future; she loves me and proposes 
to separate from Fritz — that is the whole affair!” 

“She loves you?” asked the girl, before whose eyes 
shadows danced.' “That is not true, she cannot have 
said that, and if so, she only imagines it. You must 
go away, Frieder, this very day, if you are a man of 
honor! I will send your effects! Therese will come 
to her senses, I know it — but make your preparations, 
there is no timie to lose!” 

In feverish haste she fetched his hat and overcoat. 

“Do not excite yourself,” said he calmly, “all will 
come right. I will go when the time comes and cir- 
cumstances have been arranged!” 

“All will come right, you say?” cried she, with 
sparkling eyes. “Is it right to render the best, the 
noblest man miserable?” 

“It is retribution!” he answered, rolling another 
cigarette. “He took my betrothed from me; how he 
managed it, I do not know, probably under the mask 
of the man of honor, which suits him excellently. 
Moreover, the retribution came without my co-opera- 
tion — Therese confessed to me that at our first meet- 
ing again the old love awakened.” 

Julia with a silent gesture of repugnance turned to 
go; she felt miserable. 


A SEED OF BITTERNESS TAKES ROOT 


237 


“Where are you going?” he called after her. “I 
advise you to do nothing absurd, or else — ” 

“To Therese, ” she murmured. 

She never knew how she reached the tiny boudoir. 

There her lips were sealed and her teeth clenched 
— beside Therese^ s bed, bending over her whose face 
was covered with a handkerchief, stood the betrayed 
husband, inquiring with an anxious air as to . the condi- 
tion of the wife who had deceived him! When Julia 
turned to go, she heard him call Therese “darling." 

In her anguish she thought of appealing to Frau 
Roettger, but fortunately she remembered in time 
that this lady would immediately stir up the whole 
household, that there was no possibility of making 
good the wrong, that his happiness was ruined for 
ever. And yet, something must be done! Suddenly 
old Krautner occurred to her and she rushed to the 
door. 

“Where are 5"ou going?” cried Frau'Roettger’s voice 
behind her. “It is not the fashion with us to take 
walks at night, my young lady! The girls of our family 
remain modestly at home at night.” And passing 
her by, Frau Minna locked the door and, with inten- 
tional significance, thrust the key in her pocket. 

Now Julia knew that the old lady had listened, 
that this very evening the maids in the kitchen would 
repeat the welcome news with every possible embel- 
lishment. She could have cried aloud with rage and 
pain. At this moment the doctor came downstairs. 
He went toward his study and did not turn his head 
as he said: “I beg that my wife be not disturbed any 
more this evening.” 

She looked after him in silence, infinite pity stifled 
her anger. She went to her bedroom; it was impos- 


23 « 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


sible for her to bid Aunt Riekchen “Good-night,” 
impossible to seek her couch. She felt as if the close 
walls would suffocate her, the air seemed to her in- 
sufferably hot. With nervous haste she threw open 
the window. Then she began to pace the room, rest- 
lessly, wringing her hands. From time to time she 
passed them mechanically over her aching brow, upon 
which lay her damp, short hair. It Was long past mid- 
night when she ceased her walk. 

She carried a chair to her commode and pulled out 
the upper drawer. There lay, neatly arranged, the 
trifling treasures of her joyless youtli. Absently she 
took up first this and then that paste-board box and 
examined the contents. There were the beloved for- 
bidden ear-rings,' there was her mother’s pin, the little 
dagger with the Mosaic hilt; there a couple of books 
of poems, which Fritz had given her on her confirma- 
tion, finally a book with blank pages, upon the brown 
leather cover of which in gilt letters stood the word 
“Diary.” 

It had been a Christmas gift from Therese, one of 
those gifts which are carelessly chosen and only given, 
because one has to give something; on the first holi- 
day she had put it in the commode with the other 
more or less useless gifts, not without first smiling 
bitterly. What were the leaves to her, they would 
remain as blank as her life! What had she to write 
down 1 Yet, once she had dipped her pen in the ink 
and written a few words in the large, strong .charac- 
ters peculiar to her: 

Wie meine Tage vergehen? 

Ich will es kunden Euch gleich — 

Es macht mich kein einziger armer, 

Und auch kein einziger reichl 


A SEED OF BITTERNESS TAKES ROOT 


239 


Und wisst Ihr, warum ich so trube, 

Warum ich so trotzig mag sein? 

Ich hatte viel Durst nach Liebe, 

Und niemand schenkte mir ei)i. 

Wohl sah ich rin Glase blinken 
Des Lebens goldigen Wein, 

Sah alle die andern trinken 
Mich aber lad keiner ein. 

Nur einmal hat es geschienen, 

Als kam’ urphlotzlich das Gluck — 

Es bot mir einer den Becher, 

Den vollen, mit freudigem Blick. 

Und zaub’ risch spielten die Farben 
Wohl auf des Kelches Grand — 

Fassen wollt’ ich ihn, heben 
Und trinken mein Herze gesund. 

Doch wie ich mich beugte, zu nippen, 

Da brach das Glas in Stuck. — 

Und durstig blieben die Lippen 
Und feme blieb das Gluck. 

Das ists’, warum ich so trube, 

Warum ich so trotzig mag sein; 

Ich wallte nicht Mitleid fur Liebe — 

Nun bin ich ewig allein!” 

The poem was an explanation of her sorrowful, de- 
fiant manner, caused as she said by her thirst for love 
being ungratified. In this poem she made an allusion 
to the cup being held to her lips, and as she was 
about to drink, it was shivered to atoms. 

She smiled, almost compassionately, and wondered 
that she could ever have composed a rhyme. Then 
the thought occurred to her, how ashamed she would 
be if ever any other person’s eye should read that, 
and her fingers longed to tear the leaf out of the book, 
to destroy it. But her hand again fell — an idea flashed 
through her brain which she tried vainly to dispel, 


240 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


for she considered it blamable. The book fell upon 
the floor, she put her arms on the chest of drawers 
and hid her glowing face upon them. Why did she 
want to play the part of the victim, of the angel of 
peace? Why force the woman to remember her fidel- 
ity? What did it cormern her if Therese left him for 
another? Would he not then be free? And he would 
outlive the blow, surely! A man like him does not 
die when he loses something that henceforth must be 
worthless to him. And even, if he never learned of 
his wife’s infidelity — what could such a wife be to him, 
who had first to be brought back to her duty, brought 
back forcibly? It could never again be a happy union, 
never! He need not to have been the sensitive person 
he was in order not to feel that only a with difficulty 
patched-together sense of duty kept his wife at his 
side! Would it be worse for him to make the discov- 
ery now that he was betrayed? Had she done right 
in concealing the truth from him? The desire to 
shield him from the loss of his loved one, the pity, 
the mercy, which asks, which seeks nothing for it- 
self — had rushed in upon her on this day, when she 
declared the scarf to be hers. But had she not been 
ridiculous, the victim of an over-strained feeling? 

Her heart rebelled against the misery of the future, 
which would be more desolate, more lonesome for 
her — yet on all sides sweet, hopeful dreams whispered 
in her ear. He would be free, he would some day be 
hers, she would spread her hands beneath his feet, 
would make him forget all, and his child — 

Ah, the child! 

The child was to lose his mother? 

“And what a mother!” said the rebellious heart. 

She was nevertheless his mother, and Theres^^q soivl 


A SEED OF BITTERNESS TAKES ROOT 


241 


could not be SO utterly abandoned but for that ^on’s 
sake she would bless the hour in which she sacri- 
ficed her dream of love to remain with her husband — 

Julia raised her head, and her burning, dry eyes 
looked resolutely around the small room. 

What will become of you? asked the tempting voice. 

She did not know. She had already borne so much, 
why not that too, that she should be considered a 
frivolous person, neglectful of her honor? But no, 
that she would not bear, his contempt! It would be 
best if she were to die! In this case it would not be 
cowardice, surely not! 

Oh, beautiful life, golden youth! How many 3^ears 
still lay before her, and when she went out independ- 
ently in the world she must undoubtedly find some 
place where there would be peace for her, where she 
could breathe and see the sun and the lovety world ! 

There — what was that? Up-stairs over her room a 
door was violently closed, and she could now dis- 
tinctly hear Therese’s weeping voice. Now familiar 
foosteps passed through the hall, the creaking of a 
door — Fritz had entered his study. What did that 
mean? Had Therese — Julia’s limbs suddenly became 
as heavy as lead; she stood there motionlessly and 
listened. The sobs up-stairs grew more violent, she 
could distinguish the old nurse’s voice. 

Julia made a hasty resolution and went out. The 
deep silence of night reigned in the house. The lamp 
in the hall was burning, it was never put out until 
motning; Fritz wished to have it so, in case he should 
be summoned to a patient in the night. Julia ascended 
the stairs; upon the last step sat the cat which blinked 
at her drowsily; the old hall-clock struck three, as 
Julia passed. 


242 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


Therese’s sobs could now be heard more plainly, 
they sounded like the sobs of a spoiled child who can 
not have his own way. Julia passed through the 
nursery. By the shimmer of the night-lamp she saw 
the pretty little head of the sleeping boy among the 
snowy pillows and the nurses^ empty bed. The door 
leading to Therese^s bedroom was ajar and the old 
woman was just saying: “Come, madame, calm yourself 
and drink this water. Of what use is it to weep so? 
You will only make yourself ill.” 

Without any further delay Julia entered. “What 
ails you, Therese?” she asked, advancing to the bed- 
side of the young woman, who was weeping bitterly 
and wringing her hands in despair. 

“God be praised, miss, that you have come!” grum- 
bled the nurse, setting the sweetened water upon the 
table and disappearing in the nursery. 

Therese started up and stared at Julia. 

“I heard you crying dowm-slairs, ” said the latter, 
as she carefully closed the door behind the old wo- 
man. “What ails you? Are you ill?” 

“No, but I shall be after such treatment!” cried 
Therese, pulling at the lace with which the blue silk 
coverlet was trimmed. 

“Who has treated you so badly?” 

“Who? Absurd! Fritz, of course! If one is not 
pleased with everything, one is disagreeable, childish! 
And I said nothing but this: What had he ‘to write so 
eternally at — he came in again half an hour ago. And 
then—” she began to sob again— “then one word 
brought on another, and I finally said — ” 

The young wife ceased speaking and a defiant, res- 
olute expression appeared upon her face. 

“Then you said,” added Julia very slowly, “it would 


A SEED OF BITTERNESS TAKES ROOT 


243 


be best to leave him and to marry Lieutenant Adami.” 
^ Therese stared at the speaker, as if a horrible phan- 
tom were at her bedside. “What do you mean by 
that?” she gasped. 

“Nothing more than what you have known posi- 
tively since this afternoon and to which you have been 
drawing near for weeks. But you are beginning in 
a very petty way,” she continued. “To goad the man 
who loves you with all his soul into agreeing to a sep- 
aration by such pitiful artifice, is abominable, sense- 
less. Have you not the courage to tell him calmly? 
You had the courage to talk it all over with Frieder. ” 

Therese sank back as if on the verge of a swoon. 

“Who told you that?” 

“Chance — and Frieder confirmed it.” 

The room was quiet. Julia’s eyes roved about the 
cozy chamber; then they again turned upon the wo- 
man who lay there motionless gazing at her with an 
anxious, distressed look. 

“Will you listen to me?” asked Julia, without leav- 
ing her post at the foot of the bed ; she leaned lightly 
against the nut-wood footboard. “I would beg of you, 
Therese — ” 

“Do not reproach me,” interrupted the young wife 
violently, ‘T cannot help loving Frieder — you do not 
understand that — certainly, you do not.” 

“I do not understand it, no! That is, I understood 
once, that you loved Frieder—” 

“You all were against my marrying him,” she mur- 
mured. 

‘That is not true!” replied Julia firmly. 

“Not true? My father threatened me with disin- 
heritance and you— refused to help me.” 

“An honorable, constant love would have . forced 
your father.” 


244 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“Absurd! It is very well for you to talk — but young 
as I was at the time — ” 

“That is no excuse for your behavior. At any rate, 
you accepted Fritz and you will 7'emain with him, 
Therese.” 

“No! I cannot, I no longer love him! I pray you, 
leave me! You never had any liking for me, and can- 
not sympathize with me, you do not want to ! Please 
go!" 

“Not until you have promised me to write Frieder to 
go away at once!" 

“No! No!’ 

“How can you breathe in the desperate condition in 
which you are?” exclaimed Julia beside herself. 
“Either you must write now to Frieder and put an end 
to this nonsense forever — or you must tell Fritz all 
to-morrow!" 

“Never — I am afraid!" cried Therese, and her teeth 
chattered. 

“Then I shall go to your father." 

“You will not do that! What does it concern you? 
What right have you to set yourself up as my judge, 
you, who are no better!" 

Julia looked at the young wife aghast. I?" said 
she. 

“Yes, you! Or do you think I do not know that you 
love Fritz passionately? That you grudged him to 
me?" 

An ashen pallor overspread Julia’s face. 

Again a pause. From the adjoining room came the 
whimpering voice of the child. 

“Therese,” said Julia, and rushing in she knelt 
beside the bed. “Listen — you have not thought of 
your child which loves you both!" 


A SEED OF BITTERNESS TAKES ROOT 


245 

Therese impatiently turned aside. “Oh, I wish it 
had never been born!’’ she cried. 

“You are committing a sin, Therese — ’’ 

“It may be; it may too be that I am wicked, but 
I can not help it, nor do I want to.” 

“And your old father?’’ 

“My father?’’ Therese laughed mockingly. “My 
father is more deeply in love with your brother than 
I am — have you not noticed it?’’ 

“Yes, he likes him; but did he know that he was 
harboring a deceiver—’’ 

“A deceiver? We are deceiving no one! If Fritz 
had not been so wrapped up in himself — he would 
have seen for months, that I — ’’ 

“That 3^ou were deceiving him, yes. But with his 
upright character, he cannot imagine such a thing! 
You must excuse him, Therese, he does not dream 
that it is possible you could desert him. And with 
what right do you do so, Therese? Upon what grounds 
do you base your desertion?’’ 

“I have no other grounds, save this: that I love 
Frieder, have always loved him and would have re- 
mained his, had I not been separated from him,’’ con- 
cluded the exasperated woman. ^ 

Julia strove to maintain her composure. “Once 
more, Therese, will you write Frieder to go away?’’ 

“No, not a word! And as a man of honor he would 
not go. Do you think he would leave me alone in 
this position? That request would be vain. But rest 
easy, I shall return to my father’s house, and all will 
be arranged peaceably — only do not torture me any 
longer now! Besides,’’ she added, “the matter must 
soon end now, so that it can be decided if Frieder 
will again become a soldier, or if we shall travel, for 
after — ’’ 


246 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


“I will go to Frieder once more to-morrow morn- 
ing,” interrupted Julia. ‘‘There must still be within 
him one spark of consideration and respect for the 
house whose hospitality he is enjoying.” 

Therese shrugged her shoulders and leaned back 
among the cushions. At the door Julia hesitated and 
once more looked at the infatuated woman, who per- 
sistently closed her tear-swollen eyes and whose 
clenched fists lay upon the coverlet. She closed the 
door without another word. 

“Oh, you poor boy!” whispered the girl, as she bent 
over the boy’s bed in the nursery, and from the pil- 
lows the nurse sobbed: “Ah, miss, how can one so 
boldly destroy his happiness. You do not know what 
master has borne of late and what angelic patience 
he has had with his wife.” 

“She is ill, Doris, it will be different after a while. ” 

‘Yes, yes, if she has her way, otherwise not!” 

Julia descended to her room, but she did not know 
what to do. Sleep? Her nerves were unstrung, she 
could not. She began to disrobe; the cool water did 
her hot cheeks good, for they still burned from’ the 
conversation with Therese. How miserable this world 
was! In what could one believe if not in the fidelity 
of a wife, in the love of a mother? 

She stepped to the window and looked out over the 
gardens which were enveloped in mist. Nothing was 
to be seen of the river and the island, nothing but a 
bluish vapor which hid everything. What would the 
day bring forth? It was still veiled. When night 
came — who knew what would have taken place? 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


WHICH WAS THE GREATER GRIEF. 

By the lamp, whose reddish-yellow light was min- 
gled with the gray light of morning, sat the doctor 
in his study, before him the volume in which he had 
been writing, the pen still in his hand. 

He was thinking of something quite different from 
the scientific question upon which he had been writ- 
ing and of which he was to treat at the next medical 
congress. What ailed Therese? This was no longer 
obstinacy and caprice, it was a serious nervous attack, 
and immediate remedy was necessary! Where was 
his golden happiness? Where the delightful hours in 
her tiny boudoir, the jubilant frolics of mother and 
child, at which he could never gaze enough? He pon- 
dered. When had he noticed the first signs of her 
changed mood? 

Then a pale, beautiful face arose before his eyes, 
a pair of sparkling dark eyes — Julia. He angrily 
shook his head and seized the pen, mingled feelings 
of contempt and compassion stole over him. 

Should she be left there? No one knew what her 
relations were — who should look after her? The old, 
paralyzed aunt? His all too-severe mother? 

Yes, that was the reason — she had been treated no 
better than a maid ; she could have no pleasures like 
other young girls of her age, now she was taking her 

247 


248 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


revenge. And yet — it could not be possible! Her 
face could not deceive thus! 

“Ah, what trouble one has with women folks?” said 
he aloud, as if trying to shake off his sad thoughts 
by a jest. “One is ill, the other — still worse!” 

And he arose with the heavy limbs of a man who, 
instead of spending the night in bed, spent it in a 
chair, gathered together the papers and prepared to 
go up-stairs to Therese. He had left her in anger and 
by rights a doctor should never lose patience. She 
was ill surely! Poor little woman, who knows how 
far into the night she sobbed. 

In the hall stood his mother with an angry air, her 
gray morning dress hastily fastened, the cap with 
lilac ribbons awry upon her carelessly combed hair. 

■‘It is high time, Fritz, for you to speak to Julia’s 
guardian, and if you do not do it, I shall go. This 
morning when the maids rose the door into the gar- 
den was unlocked and Fraulein Julia’s room empty. 
If you keep her indoors at nig^ht she runs away in the 
morning — for heaven’s sake, who would have thought 
it!" 

He looked up with an expression of melancholy sur- 
prise. He saw in his mother’s hand the scarf he had 
found the day before. 

She observed his inquiring glance. “I just picked 
it up, it was laying on the stairs,” she continued in- 
dignantly. “That is the way Julia treats things. If 
it was her scarf, but Therese lent it to her out of pity, 
and — ” 

“The scarf belongs to Therese?” he asked. 

“Yes!” said from above the voice of Therese’s maid, 
and the buxom blonde descended the stairs and ex- 
tended her hand for the scarf. “Mistress missed it 
last night and told me to look for it.” 


WHICH WAS THE GREATER GRIEF 


249 


"The scarf belongs to my wife?” 

"Yes, sir, Fraulein Julia only wore it once on the 
evening when the lieutenant lectured at the ‘Traube.’ 
She returned it the next day, and now — ” 

"When did my wife lose the scarf?” The man’s 
voice sounded so hollow that the old lady looked at 
him in surprise. 

"I do not know,” said the girl; "but I believe mad- 
ame wore it last night when she went into the garden.” 

"Very well, I will give the scarf to my wife my- 
self.” 

He took it and advanced toward the stairs, again 
he turned irresolutely and finally he ascended them. 
It seemed to Frau Roettger as if he were stumbling, 
and she saw him grasp the balusters. 

Therese was still in bed; the room smelled of Eau 
de Cologne and ether. With heavy steps Fritz en- 
tered, approached the window and drew aside the 
curtains to admit the daylight. Now he turned to his 
wife, and held out the scarf with a hand which trem- 
bled. 

"Is this your scarf, Therese?” 

"Why do you ask?” said she. "Why?” 

"Is this your scarf, Therese?” 

"Yes !” 

"Since when have you missed it?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. "Since yesterday, I 
believe,” she answered indifferently. Then, terrified, 
she stared at him. "For God’s sake, Fritz !” she gasped 
— it was the glance which once before had inspired her 
with horror ! - 

“Collect yourself, said he, "you must tell me later 
on where you lost the scarf. I will return, when I 
— am calmer.” 


250 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


And flinging the scarf upon a table he left the room. 
Below in the hall he took his cane and hat, and 
walked hastily through the streets to the main road. 
To the right branched off a field-path, bordered by 
bare fruit trees; into this he turned. As he walked 
he took off his hat and allowed the February air to 
blow upon his brow — moving on — ever on. But 
before his eyes floated a white scarf with a border 
of gold threads, before his eyes arose the place 
in which he had found it — the tiny, dimly-lighted 
room with the old-fashioned sofa, so far from the 
world, as cosy as possible. And there, before the 
sofa, the scarf had lain! Now came the memories, 
and formed link by link an obnoxious chain. 

Had he been deaf and blind? Everything returned 
to him. He had once entered the dining-room hastily, 
at which moment Frieder rose from his knees with the 
greatest composure and said, he could not find the 
ball of thread . . . yes, yes, Frieder — Frieder! 

The doctor had walked like a madman; suddenly he 
found that he was at the gate of a small village in 
which he had a patient seriously ill. She might die 
and de-compose! 

He turned again. A child ran after him, a little 
boy with fair hair and blue eyes. “Doctor, please 
come in to mother,” he said, catching hold of his 
coat. The man stared at the child and followed him 
to the cottage. He was reminded of his own boy. 

When he came out, he took the shortest road home. 
The child! Ah, to be sure, the poor child! His eyes 
filled with tears. 

In a little while he was again in town, and had he 
not been so engrossed with his own thoughts, he would 
have perceived that the people were staring at him, 


WHICH WAS THE GREATER GRIEF 


251 


and that the women in the cottage? opened their win- 
dows to look after him. From a fisherman’s hut on 
the Rhine emerged an old man. He was dripping 
wet and his white hair was uncovered. When he saw 
the doctor he first paused in embarrassment, then he 
advanced. 

"Sir,” said he with hesitation, "I believe you are 
wanted at home. ” 

"1? At home?” 

"Yes, sir ; they have sought you everywhere, because 
— do not be startled, sir, I believe, one of your fam- 
ily has been taken ill.” 

The doctor mechanically touched his hat and has- 
tened homeward, his heart filled with mortal anguish. 

Then he heard an old woman say: "Oh God! I 
should not like to be the one to have to tell him!” 
He knew now that some misfortune had befallen! 

In a few seconds he reached his house. Whither 
should he turn? At the back door traces of water 
were to be seen which reached to the stairs on the 
first floor. So it was up-stairs. 

On the stairs stood his father-in-law. The old man 
convulsively grasped the arm of the man who was 
rushing up. He tried to speak but he could not; the 
tears rolled down his cheeks. "In the drawing-room,” 
he gasped at length, waving his hand. "Do not judge 
her too severely, she has been heavily punished.” 

In the center of the luxurious room with its blue 
decorations had been placed the child’s bed, beside it 
a table with pillows and cloths. The man reeled and 
supported himself with a groan against the railing of 
the bed. 

"Is it you?” he cried out, lifting the small rigid form, 
"Had it to be you— you?” 


252 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


Upon the other side of the bed, her hands twisted 
in her half loosened hair, lay a trembling, sobbing 
woman. “Fritz, forgive me, forgive me!” 

He did not look at her; he still held the child in 
his arms, then he snatched a cloth from the table, laid it 
over the still face and left the room with the corpse. 

Silence reigned behind him. 

Down-stairs to his room he bore him, there he laid 
him upon the sofa and locked the doors. He then 
threw his arms in despair over his silent darling and 
listened with wild anguish for the pulsation of the 
tiny heart — in vain — all in vain! 

“It had to be you — you!” he cried. 

He did not ask how it had happened — there was no 
reply; for hours he let the people knock in vain. 
At length in the evening his mother cried — “At least 
come to Julia, she needs your help!” 

The old lady was startled when her son opened the 
door. 

“God in heaven, Fritz!" she sobbed, “Fritz, control 
your feelings. Think of your old mother.” 

“What ails Julia?” he asked harshly. 

“Good Lord, she tried to save the child, and was 
almost drowned herself ! A while ago she was con- 
scious, but now she is lying there so rigid!” 

He put his hand to his brow, then he entered the 
girl’s room. The old lady closed the door behind 
him, and he approached the bed alone. Upon the chest 
of drawers a candle flickered and lighted up the girl’s 
pale face which lay on the pillow with an unnatural, 
fixed expression. 

“Julia!” said he softly. She opened her eyes and 
recognized him. 

“Fritz!” She extended her hands to him. “Fritz, 


WHICH WAS THE GREATER GRIEF 


253 


I would so gladly have died in his stead.” And the 
pent-up suffering of years found vent in the sobs which 
now burst forth. 

He could not speak, but he stooped and raised her 
hand to his lips. 

* Jfc * * * 

"Yes, you see, Fritz," said Frau Roettger half an 
hour later to her son, as old Doris laid ^her boy’ in 
the tiny casket, “you see, Fritz, she had the child’s 
hand; I met her on the stairs and asked: ‘Therese, 
are you going to take the child with you in this wind?’ 
‘Only to papa,’ she replied. So I was satisfied and 
went into the kitchen, whence I could see her going 
down the middle path so rapidly that the little fel- 
low could scarcely follow her. Once more I saw the 
red cap between the bushes, but I thought of nothing 
then. Suddenly I heard Julchen scream, and saw her 
rush down the walk, and when I got down there, 
Julchen was in the water, and I saw the boy’s redcap 
swimming on it, and the people coming in a boat. 
Julchen disappeared altogether, finally she brought 
up the child, and as they took him from her, she dis- 
appeared again and then rose, pushing away the pole 
which she should have laid hold of, and the old fish- 
erman said it looked as if she did not want to be saved 
at any price, and they drew her in like one dead. 
We fetched old ‘Uncle Doctor’ and his new partner, 
but you were not to be found. Of course you would not 
have been able to help our little darling.” 

"Will you not go up to Therese?” she then asked. 
‘‘Good Lord, she is to blame, for she forgot altogether 
that she had taken the boy with her, and the little 


254 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


thing wandered alone to the Rhine — but fancy, how 
much she needs consolation!” 

“No, mother,” said he, “she does not need my con- 
solation. ” 

She tied a black apron over her dress and herself 
went up to her daughter-in-law. But on opening one 
room after the other, she found them all unoccupied, 
strangely empty and still. 

“Where is your mistress?” she asked at length with 
wildly beating heart in the kitchen, where the maids 
sat idly with anxious faces. 

“At her father’s,” replied the cook. 

The old lady went over to the villa. Therese was 
in the room she had occupied as a girl, she would 
see no one, they said, but Herr Krautner was at lib- 
erty. Frau Roettger entered the old gentleman’s 
room. In affright they gazed at each other. "For 
God’s sake, is not one misfortune enough?” asked 
the lady, looking with dread at the man’s face which 
bespoke more trouble. 

He turned abruptly, and as he could not speak, he 
began to whistle. Finally he advanced. 

“When my Hannchen died, neighbor, I thought 
nothing worse could happen. To-day I knov/ it was 
a trifling sorrow compared with the one which now 
rends my heart. It too concerns you. My daughter 
— God knows, how it came about — came to me this' 
morning and said she wants to leave Fritz. Formerly 
I could scold and rebuke, but to-day, I could not find 
a syllable. And when she said she loved Frieder 
Adami and after the divorce would marry him, I could 
indeed say nothing at all; only inwardly, when I 
blamed myself and called m3^self a donkey who thought 
he could make everything all right, and who did not re- 


WHICH WAS THE GREATER GRIEF 


255 


member that one cannot know any human heart, not 
even that of his own flesh and blood. Finally I asked: 
‘And your child, Therese? ’ Just then they fished the 
boy out of the water dead. ” 

The old lady sank speechlessly into a chair. “ Oh, 
my boy! My poor boy!” came slowly from her lips. 
The old man pressed her hand and nodded his gray 
head. Finally he said: 

“I can do nothing, she is beyond my control, and I 
was so happy that she obtained that honorable man. 
If it would help matters — how gladly would I give 
up my old life! But, neighbor, there is One above 
us who guides all destinies, as my Hannchen always 
said. Submit — neighbor — submit!” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


TOGETHER, BUT FAR APART. 

At the funeral Therese once more appeared in her 
husband’s house ; a long crape veil was before her 
face. The man who accompanied her, had suddenly 
become old, his once so erect form was bowed; he 
sought the most retired corner of the hall, in which 
the service was to be held. Everyone knew, everyone 
judged — his honorable name seemed to him dragged 
in the mire. 

“If the boy had lived,” he murmured, “she would 
have come to her senses, and he would have forgiven 
her — but now — And he glanced covertly at the tiny 
coffin which was almost hidden by flowers, and on 
both sides of which stood the mourners — he here and 
she there — their blighted happiness between them ! 

Frau Roettger with a pale, rigid face took her stand 
by the side of her daughter-in-law. She wanted to 
force people to believe that it was all idle chatter 
— the rumor of a great scandal, such as the chron- 
iclers of Andersheim had not recorded within the 
memory of man. If she stood beside the young 
women, no one could believe it, surely not! 

The clergyman spoke of a common sorrow which 
draws hearts together more firmly than all the joys of 
life — it sounded like mockery. 

Not a muscle of the doctor's pale face quivered. 

356 


TOGETHER, BUT FAR APART 


257 


All had been taken from him, faith in God and in 
mankind, faith and — his lifers happiness! 

The clergyman concluded his address; the coffin was 
carried out and the procession formed. 

Fritz approached the old man who was sobbing. 
"Come, grandpapa," he implored, "we will go to- 
gether." 


CHAPTER XXVl. 


TEMPEST TOSSED ON ROUGH SEAS. 

Suddenly all was quiet in the hall ; Therese alone 
still stood there, motionless in front of the black 
trestle, which had held the coffin, Frau Rocttger next 
her. 

,“Gome into my room ! ’’ said the old lady. And Therese 
followed her; she was almost unconscious of what she 
did. On reaching the room she seated herself upon 
the tiny elevation at the window and leaned her head 
upon the sewing table, then she eagerly took the glass 
o-f wine the old lady offered her. 

When she had swallowed the contents she sat there 
in silence until the doctor returned. 

His mother met him in the hall. “Fritz, she is yet 
in there, will you not become reconciled?” 

He looked at the old lady from head to foot. “No!” 
was the curt reply, and he entered his own chamber. 

Frau Roettger returned to Therese. “Fritz is here 
— will you not go to him?” 

Therese rose. 

“You are the guilty one, do not forget that, when 
you are standing before him!” 

But Therese did not reply. She pulled her veil 
over her face and went out. And when she looked 
out, she saw the black train of Therese’s gown sweep 
over the threshold of the house. Her daughter-in-law 
had gone, without an attempt at a reconciliation. 

258 


TEMPEST TOSSED ON ROUGH SEAS 


259 


In despair Frau Roettger hurried to her son’s room. 
He sat in one corner of the sofa, his.head resting in his 
left hand and looked up at her absently. 

“You might have spoken the first word,” sobbed 
she. “You know Therese is a spoiled child. Now 
she is gone, and you will never make up.” 

He shook his head impatiently. “Do not speak 
of it,” said he, “please, leave me alone!” 

“Ah, you were surely very severe with her! She 
has done nothing really wrong as yet — Frieder was 
once her lover; she would probably have come to her 
senses again — ” 

“I pray you — leave me!” he groaned. 

She left the room in tears. She meant to do good. 
In the ante-room stood Luischen with a letter. “For 
the doctor,” said she. His mother returned once more 
and delivered over his letter to him. Fritz broke 
the seal when the old lady was gone. It was a letter 
from Adami. He was at his service and awaited further 
news. 

Fritz shrugged his shoulders and laughed curtly. 

Then he resumed his brooding. Honor demanded 
that he fight a duel with the destroyer of his happiness 
— very well, he would not fail him. Rules could not 
be broken! But it was a matter of indifference to 
him, whether the person who had been his enemy from 
childhood, lived or not; whether he shared that life 
with her, who had turned from her husband, or not. 
What was it all to him^ Not a trace of the passionate 
desire to punish the purloiner of his wife, the desire 
which had raged within him only the day before, any 
longer moved him. Since the moment that the clods 
rolled over the little casket all was dead and still within 
him, except the gnawing pain at the loss of his darling. 


26 o 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


Existence lay before his eyes like a desolate waste 
of snow in the twilight; upon this path he was to 
wander aloncy aimlessly — horribly ! 

He moaned like an animal mortally wounded, and 
when the bell without rang, he bolted his door. What 
cared he for the people who required his help? No 
one helped him — let them knock — 

The day drew to a close, twilight gradually filled 
the corners of the room — he still sat there. Suddenly 
he started up, he had distinctly heard a sweet little 
voice cry "Papa". Ah, what inconsolable grief! The 
small rosy lips were silenced forever, there would be 
no more games, no clear laughter, no sweet cradle- 
song. And up-stairs the abode of their mutual hap- 
piness, love, peaceful life, lay forsaken and unoccupied 
— only an unpleasant aftertaste remained after all the 
sweets. Oh, were there but something in the world 
to which he could cling! But what had he left? 
His mother was vexed that he was not over -rigid in 
dragging out a life of pretense — even the dog had 
followed Therese. 

Then came a faint knock at the door and a languid 
but infinitely tender voice said: "Fritz, will you not 
come to the table? It would be well, if you would eat 
something." 

"Julia!" he murmured, and rising he opened the 
door. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


AT LAST. 

Three years have elapsed, three wonderfully quiet 
years. Up-stairs in the old house the shutters are 
closed, and the sunbeams which peep through the 
crevices, look upon empty rooms. Dust lies upon the 
floor. The garden is shadier, for the bowers and the 
vines cannot be trimmed — Doctor Roettger does not 
wish to see the river; nor has he ever entered the gar- 
den again. Where formerly had been the door of com- 
munication leading to the Krautner estate, a peach- 
tree spread its branches in the form of an espalier 
over the new wall, and the acacias which were planted 
along the wall have grown very high. 

The house is very quiet. Aunt Riekchen was just 
buried the week before, her rolling-chair stands up- 
stairs in the attic beside “boy’s” first bed, and Julia 
had spread a cover over it. 

It is again May, a delightful, sunny May-day. 
The windows in Aunt Riekchen’s room are wide open, 
and Julia stands there assorting the letters which, at 
the old lady’s request, she is to burn. The letter too 
lies there which arrived half an hour before her death, 
bearing the post-mark “Rome." 

Frieder writes: 

“Dear Aunt : — Several days since my wife re- 
turned from Germany. She regrets not having 
seen you, but under the circumstances it was impos- 

201 


262 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


sible. Herr Krautner died unreconciled with us, and 
surprised us unpleasantly by his will; he appointed a 
nephew, of whose existence Therese was scarcely 
aware, co-heir, in such a way that he is the favored 
one. We shall now have to economize. It is fortu- 
nate that we have no children! 

“Therese does not like Rome very well; she wants 
to find some other place. We have tried nearly all 
the Italian cities, we shall now go to Florence; she 
does not care to return to Germany. 

“I am sorry the old man was so implacable; to be 
frank, I am beside myself! I should have liked to 
have brightened the evening of your life b}^ the gift 
of a small annuity, but now it is out of the question. 
When Therese reached Eisenach — she traveled day 
and night — she found the co-heir already at the villa, 
which the old man had built for himself at the foot 
of the Wartburg. He is said to be a handsome man, 
a model high-forester. The two seem to have come 
to terms tolerably well. 

“I feel very well satisfied here, it is native air to 
me. God bless you! 

“Your affectionate nephew, 

“Frieder Adami.” 

“P. S. I sought out my father’s grave but could not 
find it. You see, I wanted to keep my promise.’’ 


Julia put this letter with the rest in the basket by 
her side. The old lady could not be informed of its 
contents, Julia was not affected by it. 

Frieder had resigned and married Therese. What 
had become of them no one scarcely knew, for Aunt 
Riekchen told very little about her letters which she 


AT LAST 


S63 

farely received. She had never recovered from the 
catastrophe; she grew quieter and quieter, then her 
mind became affected and she spoke of Frieder only 
as a child, and complained that Fritz and he could 
hot agree. For Julia, however, she had formed a 
touching, grateful affection. The beautiful, silent 
maiden now knew that she was necessary to one, 
that one was listening for her footstep, her ^oice ; and 
her efforts to help the sufferer were indefatigable. 
Before the dying woman drew her last breath, she 
turned her eyes, through which clearly beamed the 
departing soul, upon her adopted daughter's face and 
her lips moved. 

Julia bent over her and heard these words: 

"Thank you! May God reward you for your faith- 
fulness!” Holding the hand of the weeping maiden 
in hers. Aunt Riekchen died. 

That too was over. Julia was free, as free as the 
bird which sat upon the bough of the budding apple- 
tree and warbled its lay. Now it spread its wings and 
flew away, up into the blue 'sky, the laughing, bloom- 
ing world. 

She too must spread her wings — but her flight would 
be timid, fearful. She could not remain here. Who 
wanted her? Frau Roettger, who lived in strict retire- 
ment, did not need her. And he? Ah, he had only 
tshought for his books and his sick! With the reg- 
ularity of a clock he went away early, returned for his 
consulting hours, and when they were over, the car- 
riage stood without and he paid his visits in the vi- 
cinity of the town, for he was the most skilful phy- 
sician in the district since the death of "Uncle Doc- 
tor,” and was hardly able to attend to his practice. 
Half of the night he spent at his writing table. He 


264 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


lived only for duty — he no longer felt the emptiness 
of the house; he passed through his deserted life 
with a firm step and an unmoved face. Yet all the 
children followed him, and all the old ladies liked 
him and said he was, too, a doctor for the heart. Only 
here, here his lips seemed sealed, here where every 
corner recalled his past happiness. 

Julia looked about sadly, before she again closed 
the old writing-desk, and took the basket in order to 
consign the letters to the kitchen-fire. 

She must go, she was superfluous here ! 

Towards evening she entered Frau Roettger^s room. 
The old lady sat knitting behind her geranium pots 
and looked out upon the quiet court-yard. She had 
been cutting asparagus for supper a while since and 
was now resting; she was still active about the house 
and did not shirk anything. 

“After supper I will go to the cemetery,” said she, 
perceiving the girl, “in case Fritz should come home 
later, Luischen must cook him fresh asparagus. Have 
you finished putting things in order?” 

“Yes, aunt, I have, and I wanted to speak to you — 
you see. Aunt Riekchen appointed me heiress of her 
small heritage; it was so good of her—" 

“It was her duty,” said Frau Roettger dryly. 

“But,” continued Julia, “I must ask you, aunt, to 
give the dear, old furniture space in the house here, 
for I cannot take it with me." 

“Take it with you? Where to?” 

“Why, aunt, into the world — what shall I do here?" 

“Yes, indeed, when one considers it in a proper 
light, what should you do here? Well, for my part 
the things can stay here until the millennium; there 
is room enough in the house. Good Lord!" She took 


AT LAST 


265 

the needle which she had just knit off and ran it 
through her white hair, while her glasses grew dim; 
she had to wipe them before she could continue her 
knitting. "I never thought I should have so lonely 
an old age,’‘ she murmured. “But it is so, and you 
are right, what should you do here? I am still active 
— Well, I hope you may be happy, you deserve it. 
And once more — with regard to the things, leave them 
over there, they will not inconvenience me; and should 
Fritz ever again become reasonable, there is room 
enough up-stairs for new happiness." 

With these words she rose and bade Luischen pre- 
pare the meal, for she wanted to go soon. “You prob- 
ably are not yet hungry," said she to Julia, “you can 
eat with Fritz when he comes." 

Julia nodded and went out into the garden where 
she sat and looked dreamily at the sunbeams which 
glinted through the branches of the nut-free and danced 
upon the old garden table. 

In a little while Frau Roettger came along the 
middle path and cut off the budding roses. “These 
were Riekchen’s favorites," said she, pointing to the 
half-wild rose-bushes, “I will take the first for her." 
Then she proceeded toward the churchyard, and when 
she came upon her son at a street corner, she merely 
said: “I am going to the graves, Fritz. You can eat 
alone to-night! Ah, what do you think! Julchen 
wants to go away, out into the world. We cannot 
keep her, now that Riekchen is dead." 

He stood there and looked at the dark form with the 
rosebuds in her hand, but did not utter a word, he 
merely nodded absently and walked on through the 
lively street, in which the children were playing and 
which beneath the beaiws of the sun seemed enveloped 


266 


MISS GOOD-yOR-NOTHlNG 


in a golden dust. Only a few Calls were to be paid, but 
while, as a rule, he sat patiently at the bedside, to- 
day he scarcely seated himself, and his face expressed 
unrest and anxiety. He himself did not know how it 
happened that he took the shortest way home through 
a side lane, which led to the river. Never had he 
been there since that day of horro-r; to-day he looked 
in surprise at the blue-green magnificent water. Those 
waves, which had robbed him of his child, into which 
a young life had plunged bravely to save his dearest 
treasure, had long since flown away — could he blame 
the other, which now flowed by so crystal pure and 
innocently, for it? 

Ah, how far he could see to-day, how far! There 
came a steamer, now it turned and lay alongside of 
the pier; there upon the deck stood a woman’s form, 
tall and slender, and in her hand a white handker- 
chief waved farewell greetings? The form danced 
before his eyes — if it were Julia! 

Hastily advancing he removed his hat from his 
head, and his hair, upon which a light rime lay, 
brushed the elder-flowers which overhung the narrow 
path. As he was about to ascend the steps to his 
garden, he saw a rosebud lying upo'n the stones — his 
mother had probably lost it — he stooped and picked 
it up. Ah! the fragrance of a rose! Had he been 
dead, dead for years? 

His feet now^hesitated — Julia was sitting under the 
nut-tree. She looked at him with the sweet, dark 
eyes, as gentle, as patient as through all the time of 
trial. She rose and advanced to meet him. 

“Fritz!” There was a trace of joy®usness in her 
voice. “You in the garden? But it is a grand even- 
ing! Would you not like your tea here?” 


AT LAST 


267 


He nodded, seated himself upon the bench and with 
sorrowful eyes watched her walk quickly and elastic- 
ally up the walk. How would it be, when that step 
no longer resounded in the house? 

Suddenly something flew through the air, and fell 
at the girl’s feet; she stooped, pflcked up a bright, 
child’s ball, and soon after from behind the wall of 
the neighboring garden arose a fair head, while a pair 
of longing eyes looked over. “Catch!” cried Julia, 
throwing the ball back, and when the child laughing- 
ly obeyed the command, she laughed too, and these 
sounds touched the man’s heart so that it awoke from 
its long slumber, swelled with a yearning for happi- 
ness, for full, golden, human bliss. 

In a few minutes Julia returned with the dishes, 
she looked more charming than ever in her delight at 
seeing him again in the garden after three years. 

He sat there ajid twisted the rosebud between his 
fingers; his face twitched strangely. The food she 
offered him he scarcely touched. A silence ensued; 
she too was silent as she watched the setting sun. 

Suddenly Fritz rose and stepped up to Julia. 

“Julia, mother says you intend to leave us." 

She bowed her head in token of assent. 

“Why, Julia?” 

“Why? I am so utterly useless here,” she replied 
with a smile, though tears glistened in her eyes. 

“Useless — you?” said he, seizing her hands. “Ah, 
Julia, with an equal right could you blot out the sun 
in the heavens and ask of what use it was to the 
earth?” 

With emotion he stooped and pressed her hands to 
his eyes, and as she sprang up in confusion, he drew 
her gently to him and looked fearfully and inquiringly 


268 


MISS GOOD-FOR-NOTHING 


into the pale face, remarking with horror the fine lines 
which trouble and sorrow had impressed upon it. 

“Julia, you can not go, remain with me — if you can 
forgive the blind, embittered fool. Julia, what have 
you not done for me! And I have not once thanked you!” 

“Be mecirful — do not give me pity for love!” said 
she softly. 

“Ah!” He laughed curtly. “Pity! Which of us 
needs pity the most? From you I require mercy, pity, 
patience — everything — everything. Do not leave me 
alone, Julia, if you do not wish me to despair — for 
you alone, you alone can restore my faith in fidelity 
and love.” 

“I?" 

“Yes love, you alone!” 

She raised her eyes dreamily. In the next garden 
the children were enjoying their game of ball, and 
without flowed the Rhine, while the air was laden 
with the perfume of thousands of blossoms. Spring 
at last! Sweet, intoxicating spring! 

“Miss Good-for-nothing! Miss Good-for-nothing!" 
cried the thrush in the nut-tree. 

She smiled. “Do you hear?” she asked in a low 
voice. “He said the same thing when we were young. ” 

“Do not tease me!” he replied impatiently. “At 
this moment I know positively I can not live without 
you, Julia. And you?” 

Without a word she put her arms around his neck 
and from her eyes two bright tears fell and trickled 
down her cheeks. 

Oh, what a useless question! 

When Frau Roettger reached home and heard that 
the doctor and Fraulein Julia had eaten in the gar- 
den, she turned her steps thither in surprise. 


AT LAST 


269 


Then her feet hesitated. Under the nut-tree — well, 
she would sooner have expected the heavens to fall — 
stood the embittered, morose fellow embracing Miss 
Good-for-nothing and kissing her, and both seemed to 
have forgotten the entire world. 

She turned and went toward the house. "Yes — yes 
— miracles and signs still occur," she whispered. Ar- 
rived in her room, she untied before the mirror the 
black ribbons of her cap, laid it with her usual care 
in the drawer, put on her every day cap with equal 
composure and tied her apron. 

"Well," she murmured, **on close examination it is 
the simplest solution. I should not have thought of 
it — hm. And yet it is strange," she added, "how a 
thing can grow upon one unnoticed. When she said 
to-day she was going away, I was really startled. 
Well, so it has come about that Miss Good-for-nothing 
is to become my daughter-in law ! One thing is 
sure, she is good, very good, and she loves him — 
and— •* 

"Mother, her® is a daughter for you!" interrupted 
her son’s voice. And hand in hand the doctor and 
his betrothed crossed the threshold. 


THE END, 


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Romance of Two Worlds, 

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Won by Waiting, 

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The Second Wife, . 

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No. 4. 

The First Violin, 

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Old Mam^ sellers Secret, . 

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Her Girlhood^ s Tover, . 

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Foiled by Tove, 

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For the Term of His Natural Life, Marcus Clarke 

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Was She to Blame? . 

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When a Woman lyoves, . 

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No. II. 

Miss Good-for-nothing, 

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